Owl in the Sun - A Percy Jackson fanfic
by Raddaya
Summary: Set after The Last Olympian; ignoring the later storyline. In a camp changing rapidly, with technology, and tradition, and powerful demigods, the greatest challenge ever known to the world appears in the form of Patrick Brooks: The son of two demigods who has, almost in a mutant manner, inherited the powers of a demigod. Can a fifteen year old really defeat a spawn of Chaos...?
1. Prologue: Curtains

_Disclaimer: This fanfic exists in a different universe from everything after The Last Olympian. And boy, what a universe it is. _

**Owl In the Dawn - A Percy Jackson Fanfic**

"_**Do not compare yourself to others. If you do so, you are insulting yourself." - Adolf Hitler**_

**PROLOGUE**

"**Curtains"**

Patrick Brooks stared down at his table, the words of the teacher barely washing over him. He looked sideways, and received a wink in response. Straightening himself, and standing up, as the attention of the classroom turned to him, he said, slightly hesitantly, slightly nervously; partly acting and partly real, "Ma'am, could you please explain this algebra sum again? I can't understand what you did between step 4 and 5."

A voice floated out to his right, "All she did was split that 17x apart to 5 and 12 and put all the 12's together, you get a quadratic equation then."

Slightly flustered, Mrs. Smith said, "That's perfectly right, Lyra, thank you...-"

Unfortunately, she was interrupted by the rather sharp ringing of the bell, signalling that the day's special hour-long recess was to begin. Murmuring a quick "Thank you", seemingly to the teacher but actually to the aforementioned Lyra, he put his few things together and ran out of the room.

Harry muttered into his phone, "Equalizer is check, ammo low, over."

There was a brief pause and a reply of "Drunkard team has you covered, they've hidden the flag in the rocks, gonna need some covering fire, over."

"Acknowledged, over and out." Harry looked at his remaining five arrows, then took a deep breath and stood up. Rapidly shooting them, three of them hit their mark, the other two missed narrowly.

In the meantime, Seth got up from his cover of plants, and ran full sprint for the flag. Using his lance's aura to its maximum, he was able to successfully take the flag. Throwing it over to Harry, he ignored the two retching Ares children remaining and instead headed for Nico. In the ensuing clash, both of them lost their weapons, but none too soon, a whistle blared almost faintly- they had got the flag.

"Nice one," said the rest of the two Dionysus children and the daughter of Apollo who was in the squad. She securely tucked her two hidden blades inside her gauntlets.

"_Show me how to lie,_

_You're getting better all the time,_

_And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach..."_

"_When you walk away, nothing more to say, see the lightning in your eyes_

_See 'em running for their lives"_

_- Excerpt from You're Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring_

"Thanks, another moment and she would've checked my homework."

"No problem," said Lyra.

They surveyed the courtyard. The bullies didn't seem anywhere near, but were probably yelling or beating up their newest recruit somewhere. Patrick Brooks didn't care. It's easy to win battles, but it's impossible to win a war.

Opening her backpack, Lyra tossed one of the Oreo packets to Pat. Doing the same with his, he passed on a flash drive.

"Careful, I zipped the virus but make sure your uncle doesn't run it by accident or something. My hard drive's gone to shit, I didn't dare to password it."

"It's okay...sorry 'bout your hard drive, you backed your important stuff up?"

"Yeah, it's in this flash drive, don't lose it. With any luck I'll be getting a new laptop by Christmas. New drive by my birthday, anyway."

"Does...your orphanage...give any presents?"

"Gave me small stuff so far, but I might be able to request them for straight out cash. At least I'm not in the one in downtown, fuckin' christ. What're you going to do with the virus? Sell it to some poor idiot who wants to destroy evidence of his porn?"

"Nothing quite so crude. Just wants revenge. Not the most internet literate, obviously, or he'd download a virus himself or something. You used a proxy to get past the firewalls of the orphanage, I'm guessing- Hidemyass, right?"

"Sadly, yes, don't think any other good one allows downloading files. Anyway, let's eat, I'm famished."

It was simultaneously a curious sight and a quite normal one. A boy and a girl sitting in a corner of a high school courtyard. Not showing physical affection, nor verbal. Just sitting there, talking about food, talking about computers. Talking about life, in easily one of the worst schools in the country. It was hardly uncommon for guns to be sneaked in, or worse, knives, and other physical weapons. Most of the weapons were fists. Any nerd- or minority group- was either dropped out, bullied mercilessly and likely injured, or had to survive like Patrick.

But battles could be won. It was a mere three months ago that what felt like half the school had targeted the bullies- with Patrick and Lyra leading from the back. That huge a fight couldn't escape the eye of much more than just the school principal, but most people involved had wriggled out of it. The ones that didn't got suspended, expelled in the case of one student, and even gone to juvenile.

Most of them bullies.

Not all.

Nobody wins a war.

Things had improved since then, though.

Patrick threw his head back. Slouched on the bench.

"I'm so fucking tired of this shit. So fucking tired."

"I know. This is no place for anyone to be going through the most important stage of their lives. This is no place for anyone to learn shit."

"I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do in college?"

"Ehhh, I could help you through a programming course."

"If I got into the college in the first place."

"Chill. Freaking surviving this place probably comes before escaping Alcatraz on their list of achievements. Sure, nobody's going to Harvard. I can guarantee that getting out of this with a half-assed diploma will get you into any half-ass decent college, Pat."

"I hope you're right, Ly, I so fucking hope you're right."

"So did you watch the new episode?"

"Not yet, actually. Don't spoil it. Now shut up before we lose what little credibility we have."

"Not a bad effort, as much as it pains me to say it," said the God of Wine, lightly brushing down his leopard-print suit, "Though I've seen drunken Spartans shoot better than you, young man," he added, throwing a smirk at Harry's direction. Gently polishing his bow, the son of Hermes ignored the comment.

"And son, your fighting skill might be enough to break through a wet paperbag, but if you use that lance all the time I fear I might have to teach you how to participate in combat without it."

Seth mumbled something like "But it's so much fun!"

"Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes. Ahem, with any luck Peter and Annie will be coming back tomorrow- though I would hardly call it luck."

Harry looked up. "They saved the camp, the world, and your arse, would you mind at least calling them by their actual names?"

Dionysus scratched his beard lightly. "Hmmm, I do suppose I owe them that much. Oh, all right then, though I still consider it hardly luck. As I was saying, however, I believe the camp wanted to waste their time and prepare some kind of celebration for their return. Off with you, then."

As they walked out, Harry muttered to Seth, "Your dad's in a good mood today."

"Yeah...Zeus let him have wine again. Don't know why. You should've asked him to lower the drinking age to 15 and he probably would've done it today," replied Seth, grinning.

"That would be real bloody nice...oh sod it, this bloody bow can't be polished any more."

"There. Guy in the corner. Sitting on the bench. Black hair, bit fat, sitting next to the girl."

"You would focus on the boy first," grumbled Percy. Lurking carefully next to the door, he ever so gently pretended to rub his eyes.

"Yeah, looks like him. Looks like only the girl's one of us, though. Not getting the aura from the guy."

"Poor guy."

"I've never been anywhere near a school this bad. Could he even survive alone?"

"Dunno. Bullies seem pretty scared of him. Maybe his father's in the Army or something."

"Uh, guys? I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm most definitely getting a really strong scent from the guy. In fact, it's almost as strong as what I got the first time I met you, Perce," piped in Grover.

Percy shook his head, rubbed his eyes again, and looked at Grover. "Are you serious? What the hell's going on here?"

"Don't ask me, mate...LOOK OUT!"

Patrick took a deep breath. Shook his head. Blinked a few times to clear his head a little.

"So, you doing alright with Shakespeare? Would hate if you missed out on it with dyslexia."

Lyra shrugged. "It's never affected me a ridiculous amount, but eh. As far as I know, the translated versions aren't very bad at all if it gets down to that. Frankly, I'd rather have this than ADHD. No offense."

"None taken, but I'd hate to have my books destroyed. And oy- watch it, got my favourites on that flash drive. Keep it safe."

"Really, Pat, I'd need access to a furnace to wipe a USB drive. You know how it is. And don't forget that I made this cover. It's impossible for anyone without ridiculous resources to dent this."

"You never did tell me how the hell you made the cover."

"Yeah...remember those missing lightbulbs?"

Patrick swung around. "Tungsten? You used tungsten for this?"

"Well, only a little bit of it, most of it is steel, but yep."

"...how did you..."

"Snuck into the school labs after midnight. Not that hard."

"So that's why it was so heavy."

"Well, I took off the original cover, but I guess, yeah."

Patrick's eyes were gently scanning the courtyard, passing rather scornfully over a guy lounging on the wall and talking to his girlfriend, while a kid with a wispy beard twiddled his thumbs nearby. It came to rest on a chihuahua that had found its way into the school.

"Ugh. Why do people even-"

Unfortunately his views on people who keep annoying, small, yappy dogs weren't completed just then, since the aforementioned annoying, small, yappy dog transformed into a Chimera.

Even before he and Lyra had taken cover behind the bench, even before the population of the school ran screaming and yelling "Fire!", the guy lounging on the wall, his girlfriend, and the kid with the wispy beard had swung into action.

"OK, this thing's a Chimera. Now what you do is-"

"Not so fast. The last time you fought it, you wound up taking a dive into the Mississippi, seaweed brain. How about we do it my way for a change? Grover, distract it, specially the tail. Percy, cut the tail off, and let me deal with the goat. Then, we focus on the lion together."

In five seconds the Chimera no longer had a snake-headed tail.

In seven its goat body was effectively mutton.

In ten it was back at Tarturus.

"Was that...am I...what is going on...what the fuck's going on, Lyra?"

"I'm pretty sure we're about to find out."

Looking up, he saw the group of three, jogging towards them, not very far now. The sword which had erupted from a ballpoint pen was now just a pen again.

Patrick started rubbing the knuckle of his right hand.

Lyra shifted her weight ever so slightly in the dry, dead grass.

The three came close enough to talk.

"Alright," said the boy who was lounging earlier. He had black hair and very green eyes. They reminded Patrick of something. Or someone. But he was too busy to notice right now.

"Either I'm on crack, or something really fucked up is going on here," said Patrick.

"I'm fairly certain it's the latter, but if crack it is, I'm not buying from this guy any more," added Lyra.

The girl smiled a little.

"If it's a trip, then it's a hell of a bad one. I've always wanted to say this line, so bear with me. I'm Annabeth Chase. This is Percy Jackson, and he's Grover Underwood. In order, we're the daughter of Athena, son of Poseidon, and Lord of the Wild."

The expected stunned silence greeted this statement.

"So, what're you saying," said Lyra, calmly, "The Greek myths were real? The monsters are real, the Gods are real, everything?"

"Pretty much," said the boy who was called Percy. "And if you didn't realise it yet, Grover is a satyr."

"Please don't make any goatee jokes," begged Grover.

"So why are you here? Are there demigods all over the country? How did you get that sword? How come the kids had no idea what they were looking at?"

So they explained.

At the end of the explanation Patrick said, "Firefighters will be here soon. Let's get out of here."

So they walked out of the school and around two corners. They stopped in an alley.

"You're going to go directly to Camp Half-Blood, you know. You got all the stuff you need?"

"Wait. What about my Uncle? And Patrick's orphanage?"

"That's been taken care of. Your laptop will be there, by the way. You should probably leave your backpacks and take anything that's important...you're not really going to need it, by the way."

Patrick's eyes narrowed. "How exactly did you manage that?"

"It's half a block further. I'm really sorry, but I can't explain more than that."

Lyra said, "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I do, Ly," said Patrick.

"I wasn't talking to you."

Annabeth hung up her phone and said, "Transport's ready."

They walked for another half a block. They ended up well into the good neighbourhood, in front of a very tall building. The doorman nodded them in and an elevator door opened.

"Why exactly are we going into a building?"

"There's a helipad on the top."

After stepping out of the elevator they saw that there was indeed a massive helipad. The helicopter appeared to be about thirty seconds out. It could be seen on the horizon. Despite their little knowledge about helicopters, it was extremely obvious that it was an extremely high-end one. Either military, or a very rich person.

The helicopter landed. The door opened and Percy, Annabeth and Grover got in.

Patrick asked, "Why are we using a helicopter to go all the way to New York?"

"There's an aircraft about ten minutes away from here."

"Private?"

"Maybe."

They got in. Ten minutes later, they were flying over a runway. A few seconds later, they saw their aircraft. It was jet black, with a sharply narrowing tip.

"How long will it take us? Five hours? We haven't eaten in ages, you know."

Percy smiled. "You'll be having a very fine meal by then."

The helicopter pilot, who hadn't spoken a word until then, announced "Landing now."

They all got off the helicopter- including the helicopter pilot- and walked up the portable stairs leading up to the aeroplane. They got in. The helicopter pilot climbed into the cockpit of the plane.

Patrick had never ridden on an aircraft before. Lyra had. It was nothing like a civilian transport plane. Instead of as many seats as possible stuffed into the plane there were fifteen seats, spaced well out, but within talking range of anyone else. They slowly sat down near the middle. Exactly in the middle, technically speaking. Five seats perfectly in the middle of fifteen seats will have five seats in the front and five seats behind.

The voice of the helicopter pilot came in via a loudspeaker.

"Please fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen. Takeoff will begin shortly. ETA is just over an hour."

Patrick was jolted. "Isn't the distance, what, two and a half thousand miles?"

"Slightly less than that, but put on your seatbelt, Patrick," said Annabeth.

Patrick put on his seatbelt. The plane started moving forward slowly. It picked up speed and it was going extremely fast when it took off. It was already moving faster than the average car on a highway. It didn't stop accelerating. It went on and on. After about ten seconds, the little screen in front of every seat read "Current speed: 415 mph." The number kept climbing.

"How fast does this thing go?" asked Lyra.

The voice floated in over loudspeaker. "Breaks Mach 3 most of the time, and it's certainly going to do so this time, miss."

Patrick looked at Percy.

"So why exactly are we on a military aircraft?"

Percy looked at Annabeth. Then he took out his contact lenses. Annabeth and Grover followed suit.

"These," said Annabeth, "aren't contact lenses. Obviously. They're military-issue tech that allows you to zoom in slightly while remaining reasonably inconspicuous. As you guessed, that was a military helicopter, this is a military plane."

"This is going to be a long-ass story," said Percy, "So you should grab the popcorn and coke."

Grover had already slipped back from the bathroom at the back. He was carrying a rather large box with him.

"Any help, guys?"

"I hope there's some diet coke in that."

Patrick stared at Percy.

"So...you're, uh, still invincible?"

"Not anymore, unfortunately. Hades didn't let me keep the curse." He smiled. "Still basically invincible, though, yeah."

"And...how come you're flying and Zeus hasn't zapped our asses?"

"He's not that much of a dick. This stuff's pretty important. You know. Ancient-Great-Prophecy levels of important. That's why we didn't pick you up when you were 13. Well, that, and for some reason even I don't get, you send out some kind of signal that confuses the shit out of everything else. Couldn't find you for ages. She seems to be pretty normal, though. For a demigod, anyway. Your...uh.."

"Friend," said Patrick.

"His girlfriend," said Lyra, simultaneously.

"Well, if you want to make it official," grumbled Patrick.

"We're not in school anymore, Pat."

"I don't know about you, but I'm planning on leading an actual life, which generally means I have to go through college, which would mean I need a high school degree."

"You could get a GED," suggested Annabeth, amused.

Patrick considered the idea.

"That's...actually a good idea. I might do that. But for now, I think we're near Long Island."

"ETA five minutes, put your seatbelts back on, people," came the voice, right on cue.

Exactly seven minutes later they had touched down. Another helicopter was waiting for them, which took them directly to the camp.

Exactly one hour and ten minutes after they had gotten on the aeroplane they were standing in front of Camp Half-Blood.


	2. Chapter 1: Friendships

**CHAPTER ONE**

"**Friendships"**

"_On this day,_

_I see clearly_

_Everything has come to life_

_A better place_

_And a broken dream_

_And we leave it all behind_

_On this day_

_It's so real to me_

_Everything has come to life_

_Another chance_

_To chase a dream_

_Another chance to feel_

_Chance to feel_

_Alive"_

_- Metalingus, Alter Bridge_

Percy stepped out of the helicopter. The other followed.

"This is the camp? A strawberry farm?"

"That's our cover, yeah. See that little light over there? That tree next to it?"

"Yeah?"

"That's where the camp starts. And don't worry, the dragon won't attack you."

"Dragon?" said Patrick, but Percy had already started.

They went past the massive pine tree, into the well-lit camp. Two men were waiting.

"Ah, Percy, Annabeth, Lord of the Wild," said Dionysus, "Welcome back."

Percy stared at him for a minute, then said, "Um, thank you."

"I do believe your friends are expecting you, so you three should really go. Now, um, I'll leave Private Greene, was it? To help you."

Percy, Annabeth and Grover murmured a quick "See ya later" to Patrick and Lyra. Then they hurried off into the camp.

"So, Patrick and Lyra, was it? You're going to have to come with me," said the Private Greene.

"Where, sir?"

"Can't tell you."

"Can it wait a little?"

"No, it can't. Now come with me."

Patrick breathed out. He shared a look with Lyra.

"Are you a Private or Private First Class?"

"It's no business of yours, kid. Now I highly suggest you walk with me."

"So you're a Private. Good."

"What the hell are you-"

"I highly suggest you wait and listen for a while. We have just travelled across half the entire United States. In a military aircraft that the public has no idea exists. According to those guys, we are also the children of extremely powerful Greek Gods. Oh, and do you have any idea exactly where we were before Percy and Annabeth found us?"  
"Now look here-"

Lyra told him where Percy and Annabeth found them.

"You're a Private. Army, because nobody else does much work inside the US. You're maybe trained to fight other six feet lumps of muscle and zero brains. We are two fifteen year olds who are extremely fucking pissed at you and we are _very _used to fighting guys who are much bigger than us. Also, like I said before, we're apparently children of Greek Gods."

"Are you trying to threaten a member of the United States Armed Forces?"

"That took long enough for you to understand. Now I highly suggest you call up your boss, and explain to him that since the concept of mutual respect is not one that is understood by you, we rejected your offer for now."

Private Greene said, "I don't think you have any id-"

"I highly suggest you not threaten my grandson, Mr. Greene."

All three swiveled around to see where the voice had come from. A woman, dressed in a white and silver dress was walking towards them.

She looked at Patrick and said, "Hello, Patrick Brooks. I am Athena. Your grandmother."

A bit of a stunned silence greeted this sentence.

"So...what, I'm not a demigod?"

She smiled and said, "It depends on your definition of demigod. I shall explain it to you shortly. Mr. Greene, thank you very much, I shall brief him on the situation. Lyra Curtis, you are a daughter of Hephaestus- as I am sure you have guessed by now. Mr. Greene will show you the way to your camp. Your camp leader will help you from there."

Nodding to Patrick, Lyra followed Mr. Greene.

"So, would you mind explaining what's going on here?"

"On the face of it, it's extremely simple. My daughter and a son of Apollo were in a relationship. That was how you were born. Now, normally, such children don't have any Godly powers. They're usually mortal. But not in your case. You are the third such 'demigod'."

Patrick thought over it for a while.

"So...I'm guessing...there's a prophecy attached to it."

"Yes. Unfortunately, nobody knows what the prophecy is. Or where it's being held."

"Huh? I thought that was the Oracle's...well, job?"

"When prophecies become very old, the Oracle doesn't remember them anymore. The prophecy is stored and kept in a safe place. This prophecy...is very old. Two or three centuries BC, if my memory is correct. It seems to have been stolen from where it was kept. We are trying to track it down."

"...Okay. So why is the military here? Why am I here now, as opposed to last year, or next?"

"Like I said, nobody knows what the prophecy is. But what we do know is that it is incredibly dangerous. Incredibly powerful. So what I am saying here, is that you should be prepared for the fact that you will have to save the world. And I believe you know the story of what happened the last time there was a major prophecy. That's why the military is here."

"Alright...thank you."

Athena smiled and turned around.

"You're going to be in the Hermes camp until we can figure out something better. It's right here."

Patrick blinked and found himself next to a massive building. It was a little too dark to see the details, but the door was right next to him.

"I believe the camp leader should still be awake. We shall meet later."

Patrick called out, "Uh...just by the way...doesn't this make me Annabeth's...nephew?"

Athena turned around. "Don't try to think too much about relationships, dear...I try not to."

Then, as Patrick instinctively closed his eyes, the Goddess of Wisdom disappeared.

Patrick shrugged and knocked on the door once.

"Who's that?" came a decidedly British voice.

"New guy, name of Patrick Brooks, was told to come here."

The door opened to reveal what seemed to be a massive tent. Most people were still awake and reading under soft lights or typing away on laptops or whispering amongst themselves. They looked at the new guy for a while, murmured a "Hi" or waved or gave a thumbs up and continued what they were doing earlier. The person who opened the door was about the same height as Patrick - just a couple of inches under six feet.

He said, "Hey, Patrick. Couple of empty sleeping bags in the middle or near the end, though if you prefer you can have that one at the front. Careful, though, can get real draughty. I'm Harry Morgan, camp leader of the Hermes Cabin. Pleased to meet you."

He stuck out his arm, and Patrick accepted.

He said, "Same to you, Harry, though I should probably tell you I'm not the best with authority."

"I'm sure we can find a way round that, mate. It's technically lights out, so you should probably pick a bag and settle down for the night. Percy boy told me you flew straight from L.A, so you should work out that jet lag, what?"

"Good idea."

Patrick woke up at just before 8 AM, like he usually did for school. After a few seconds, he shook off the drowsiness and looked around. Some beds which were occupied the previous night were now empty. Most of the people in the cabin were still sleeping, however. One or two had just woken up, like him. Harry had just finished brushing his teeth.

"Hey mate," said the camp leader, "Want me to show you 'round the camp a bit? Good to see you wake up at a sensible time, not like these blokes," he said, waving his toothbrush around at the other campers.

Smiling slightly, Patrick got up and did the necessary preparations. Harry carefully put what seemed to be a large stick into his belt, and slung a silvery, modern longbow around his shoulder.

"You carry your weapons all the time?"

"Yep. You don't have a weapon yet, I'm guessing? No worries, they'll find you what suits you best. By the way, this isn't a club, if you're wondering."

In a fluid motion, Harry took out the stick from his belt with his right hand and seemed to press a little button; instantly an axe-edge sprouted from the other end.

"An axe, huh?"

"A tomahawk, mate! Got native American blood in me somewhere, so this fits pretty damn well. My grandpa was British- military, actually- so the longbow looked cool. Love these two weapons. Cyclops-made, both of 'em. Percy's brother, Tyson, actually- he told you about it all, right?"

"Huh. Yeah, he did. Do you name all your weapons or what?"

"Well yeah- but your weapon's gonna feel ridiculously special. You know, like they said the wand picks the wizard in Harry Potter? Yeah, your weapon picks you too a bit. Anyway, Tyson owed me one, so he made me these beauties. He told me Equalizer would be a cool name for the bow. Geddit, because you gotta close one eye to fire a bow?"

"...Yeah, I get it. And the tomahawk?"

"Named it The Hunter. Felt it fit it. Anyway, getting a bit late, let's go."

Harry showed Patrick around the camp a little. Few people were up at the time. Most of them waved at Harry and said a "Welcome to the Camp" to Patrick. One or two of them purposely avoided them.

At the lake, they met Chiron.

"Hello, sir, this is Patrick...Brooks, was it? The new guy."

"Ah, hello there Patrick. I shall get you started with the schedule presently. I'm just waiting here for...ahh...Lyra Curtis."

"Thank you, sir, I'll wait for a bit," said Patrick.

They took a brief walk around the lake.

Harry asked, in a low tone, but with a grin that could probably be seen all the way from LA, "What, she your girlfriend, Pat?"

Patrick turned and looked at the son of Hermes. "Maybe. Why'd you want to know?"

"Well, if she is, I could remember her birthday and anniversary for you, I've always been proud of my memory..."

"Oy, don't push it. Did Percy even tell you what school I went to?"

"That place in south LA, yeah? Mate, you can yell at some Private fresh in his boots and scare him off, but like I said my granpa was in the military and I spent 'alf my childhood in the London streets."

Patrick returned the grin. "I think we're gonna be very bloody good friends."

"I think we are, indeed. Now I'm fairly certain that's your little sweetheart coming over with that annoying git of the Hephy cabin leader, so I'll be off. Have a good one."

"Ah, Lyra Curtis, hello," said Chiron, "Since we're all here now, I do believe we can discuss the camp schedules, etc, here. Thank you, Leo."

"Hi, Patrick," said Lyra. "Hello, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir, you know," said Chiron with a slightly twinkle in his eye, "Chiron will do. Now, this is your camp schedule and your activities...should be self-explanatory. Oh, that reminds me. Lyra, I hope you got your laptop?"

"Yes, thank you Chiron. Complete with upgrades," added Lyra, smiling slightly.

"Yes, I did take the liberty of upgrading it. You're probably going to take that on any quests you have, so it would be a pity if you found it lacking, wouldn't it? In case you didn't find out yet, by the way," he said, shifting his glance to Patrick slightly, "There's Wi-Fi all over the camp- the highest speed we could muster- and ethernet cables for every sleeping bag in every camp, for convenience. The military, eh?"

"That's all well and good, sir," said Patrick, "But I don't have a laptop, or even a cell phone or anything, so."

"Didn't would be a better term to use," said Chiron, smiling, "I believe you'll find what you need in your camp."

Patrick's jaw dropped slightly.

"...Really?"

"Really," said Chiron. "Believe me, the kind of technology we use now, no wonder dear Athena was in such a good mood last night. Your phone clips to your wrist, by the way. Carbon nanotubes and some other things nobody on this camp except the people working on it understand."

Patrick opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it, and stopped.

Lyra said, "Thanks a lot for all that. And, uh...when do we get weapons, and the like?"

"Well, that's mostly for you to decide, actually. Though I'm sure Percy will help you find what you're good at...archery might suit you, or perhaps it'll be a dagger you'll be comfortable with?"

"Maybe it'll be something in the middle."

"Perhaps, perhaps. Ah, speaking of Percy, here he is. I have some things to do, so excuse me awhile, would you?"

"Hey there, Patrick, Lyra," said Percy, "Up early I see. What's next on your camp schedule?"

"Doesn't start for a couple hours, actually."

"Oh yeah, they changed it last month didn't they. Annoying. Anyway, since we've got some time, Dionysus and General Bennett want to meet you."

"Did you say...General?"

"Lieutenant General, actually, but yeah. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure Private Green has been removed from Camp Half-Blood duty...I made sure of that."

"Thanks."

"No prob. Anyway, let's go."

"Good day, General Bennett," said Patrick, politely but somewhat cautiously. "And to you too, Mr. D."

"Call me Kevin, sonny," said Lieutenant General Kevin Bennett, "I apologise for that bastard Greene, in my day we used to treat everyone with a bit of respect. All old-fashioned, I suppose, though it's good to know some people are carrying on with it."

"So if I can ask without being rude, sir, why exactly are we here?" asked Lyra.

"For two reasons, mostly, ma'am", said General Bennett, "The main thing is to get you started with weapons, and we should probably do that first, eh Mr. D?"

"What? Oh, yes, I suppose so," said Dionysus, lowering the wine glass from his mouth, "So have you given any thought to that at all, or did you expect others to make the decision for you like most kids?"

"I did give some thought, but I'm hardly the expert on swords and bows and axes," said Patrick. "Sir," he added.

Dionysus said, "Well, the armory's next to your grandmommy's cabin, knock yourselves out," taking another swig from his wine glass. "This vintage isn't really very good, how it was ranked the best of this year I really have no idea," he grumbled.

"Because the idiots that drink wine these days don't have any idea how good wine tastes like, sir!" roared Bennett.

Lyra cleared her throat and coughed.

"Ahem, sorry there ma'am, got a little carried away. Where were we? Oh yes, weapons. Well, that's not a bad suggestion really, going to the armory and choosing your weapons...of course, I heard that you make your own weapons, Miss Curtis?"

"We do, actually," said Lyra, "But I know I am- and I'm fairly certain Pat is- more than a little...disconcerted, at choosing weapons without knowing our way of battling, so to say."

"That is not hard to fix," came a voice from the door. Athena was standing there again.

"Ah, hello there Athena," said Dionysus, raising his wine glass to her.

"You're drunk, Dionysus, or at least I really would hope you are, because you just referred to me as 'grandmommy.' "

"Fine, I apologise," grumbled Dionysus.

"In any case, I am just here to suggest that you use a certain thing called the internet to look up weapons. Perhaps you'll find something that, ahem, clicks?"

"Or they could just practice with different weapons," suggested Bennett. "Whatever works out."

"I think we'll do that," said Lyra, "but first, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Why do we not use any guns? Or firearms?"

"Now really dear, do you honestly think we would trust teenagers with-" began Dionysus.

"No," cut in Lyra. "The real reason, please. I hope I don't have to mention all of the reasons that argument is bullshit, because we have a camp schedule to follow."

Athena said, "I will tell you on the way to the Armory." She looked at her half-brother and said, "Don't lie to the people we all expect and need to save our own lives, please."

"Don't blame me when she ends up shooting someone else here," he replied, waving his wineglass about.

"So then why don't we use any guns?" asked Lyra as they began walking towards the Armory.

"It's a little embarrassing really. You see, when humans- the Chinese- originally came up with the idea of them, we dismissed them as too unreliable. They got slightly better when actual guns, muskets, were invented, but they were still ridiculously inaccurate- as I'm sure you're aware. Until rifling was introduced, guns couldn't do much of anything that normal arrows couldn't. But even after it was introduced, we've always ignored it."

"Until now, I presume."

"Until now, indeed. The main reason it's not used very widely is that the recoil is extreme. Celestial bronze does not seem to play nicely with the classical laws of physics, it would seem. Even with a strong arm brace, firing an average handgun can do serious damage to your arms. Of course, there is the fact that firearms are a little more dangerous than swords or arrows- for the campers."

"All that needs is training," said Lyra.

"I quite agree with you, but unfortunately, you still can't fire a shot without breaking your arm into pieces...the Armory's ahead," she added.

She opened the armory door to reveal two wayward blurs of light.

Or so it seemed, until they understood that it was merely Percy and Harry having a spar.

Harry was using his tomahawk as well as his bow. He was using the edge of the axe's blade, and not the flat, or the wood of the tomahawk, to block Percy's attacks of Riptide; meanwhile he fought desperately to get a clear opportunity to shoot. Percy was more than equal to the task; he seemed to have taken the message behind the Superposition theory to heart; his sword could not possibly be existing in any one place at a certain period of time. The fight went on for a good five seconds longer, the Goddess and both demigods knowing better than to interrupt, until Harry, prematurely, went to prepare an arrow shot. Patrick and Lyra watched, surprised, as sights and stabilizers seemingly sprouted from the bow as it prepared to shoot. Premature, however, it was, as Percy knocked the bow away and executed a kata that would have resulted in a headless and armless Harry in an actual fight.

"You're too damn good, Percy," said Harry, coughing and slowly lifting himself off the floor.

Both of them noticed the newcomers right about then.

"Oh, hi then," said Harry. Percy nodded politely.

"Well, you may pick your weapons now if you like, or you could look at them for reference and look it up later," suggested Athena.

"Maybe, but I want in on the gun research, ma'am," said Lyra.

Athena raised her eyebrows for a half-second, then said, "If you wish, certainly, but why?"

"For one, I've had previous experience with guns...as Patrick will tell you. I'm also of quite the correct cabin to participate in such research, and finally, I really want to use one as my weapon," explained Lyra.

"I see...I shall make the necessary arrangements, but I would suggest seeing about a secondary weapon," said Athena. "Goodbye for now."

As everyone in the room averted their eyes, she disappeared.

As the atmosphere in the room returned to- almost- normal, Harry walked over and asked, "Experience with guns, eh? Knew your place was bad, but not that bad. Say, how'd you afford a laptop, anyway, place like that?"

"Funny story, actually," said Patrick, "It was my gift to her."

"Oh, please," said Lyra, "Tell 'em the story."

"Alright, fine. 'Bout a year ago, there was this asshat in school- he'd nicked a diamond necklace from some poor lady or the other. Was bragging the crap about it, but people do that shit all the time, so we didn't mind. Until, that is, the idiot tried to, how shall I put it, establish his superiority over us."

"Naturally, we did not take to that kindly," said Lyra. "Hey, Pat, they have a claymore...thing's nearly five feet long," she added, pointing.

"Don't know about you, but I don't feel the need to compensate for anything," joked Patrick. "Anyway, like I was saying, that bully pretty much challenged us to a fight with him and his sidekick. I was the one who knocked out the bully- broke his middle finger, shattered his jaw, and probably took out a couple of his teeth too. Nearly shattered my wrist in half while at it, but hey. I got the guy, so the spoil of war went to me."

"His _sidekick_ had a _knife_, Patrick."

"And a gun, holstered- didn't use it- but hey, that's just the details."

"What happened to the, uh, sidekick?" asked Percy, who hadn't participated in the conversation until then.

"Probably still in hospital, and I'm fairly certain he's going to die a virgin," said Lyra.

"You didn't really expect her to be the damsel in distress, did you?" said Patrick.

"Anyway, pawned that diamond necklace for a good three thousand bucks. Was worth five at least, but hey, pawnshops."

"I spent a thousand on that laptop, the two thousand's in a bank account. We thought we'd use it for emergencies."

"How'd you beat odds of that, anyway? If he had a knife?" Percy said, looking at Lyra.

Harry said, laughing, "Percy, if they couldn't handle a guy with a knife, they'd be dead inside there. Not that hard. I suppose you baited him to slash out hard, then closed the distance and smacked him upside the head?"

Lyra replied, "If I remember correctly, yeah. I broke his wrist with both of my hands, then got in close and smashed his jaw with my elbows. Both of 'em. Guy gets me pissed, he pays the price. I think Patrick had the more dangerous fight, though. That guy was pretty much exactly his size, but with more muscle instead of fat. He didn't have much of an advantage in speed or strength."

"Hey, I'm sensitive about my belly," said Patrick. "But yeah, that's what happened. Of course, if you can't win in speed, and you can't win with strength, you go back to technique."

"That's code for he kicked him in the bollocks," said Harry to Percy. He continued, "Don't get one thing though. Two thousand bucks, you were filthy rich. Why'd you keep it in a bank?"

"I already had a good enough computer, and I'm not even going to pretend I buy games. What would I buy with it? Designer shoes?" said Patrick.

"Eh...you know...I can't really think of much," admitted Harry. "Found something you like, Lyra?"

Lyra had taken a couple of daggers off their mounts. She was comparing them critically.

"Tanto," she said. "Japanese."

Percy looked closely at it. "Double-bladed...straight...stabbing weapon, I'd reckon. Good for slashing, too, though. Annabeth knows more about knives and daggers than I do- you should ask her. The other one you're holding looks like a hunting dagger. Honestly, not much of a difference between them. Whether you prefer Germany or Japan, to be honest. Won't you be building your own weapons, though?"

"H'm...I probably will, but it helps to get a basic knowledge about knives. I have a bit of an idea about this thing, I'll take it up with the other guys. Patrick, what about you?"

Patrick stared at the wall of weapons.

"I wonder...," he looked at Percy. "Percy, is dual wielding an actually viable strategy?"

Percy smiled a little.

"Yes, actually...depends on the swords, though. Anything too heavy isn't going to work. You also need to at least have some degree of motor control with your left arm- but that comes by practice fairly easily. You're not going to have much reach, though, so be warned."

"Yeah, talking of reach...you know, I'm kind of starting to like that claymore, too."

"Both styles would fit you, to be perfectly honest. Comes down to personal preference, if you ask me. You're short enough for a long sword, but also tall enough that you don't necessarily need the reach, so pick one of 'em."

"Not necessarily," said Lyra. "How does this idea sound to you...?"

Patrick knocked on the door to the Hermes camp, muttered "Password's Kratos" and walked in. Checking his spot, he saw that a phone, some kind of wrist-strap, and a laptop was kept near it. He walked there, sat down, and started fiddling with it.

"First timer, eh?" came a voice from across the camp.

Patrick turned around to see a guy grinning at him from behind his laptop.

"Name's Lloyd. You must be the new guy, Patrick. Tech-savvy at all, or are you one of those who thinks these things are the Devil's work?"

"Had a reasonable computer. Core i3, 4 GB RAM, bit of a shitty graphics card. Hard drive was about to crash when I left."

"Good, good, you know something 'bout this. Alright, it's military, so you prepared to have your mind blown?"

Patrick pressed the power button, and nearly did a double-take as the system booted up in less than two seconds.

Laughing at his stunned face, Lloyd continued, "This entire thing makes an i7 with a TB of SSD space look like a Pentium from 1990. The RAM this thing has is 'bout equivalent to 50 GB in a normal computer- and the system's programmed to use it to the max. Hard drive space is 20 TB and it makes an SSD look like a fucking floppy disk, man. Don't even bother with the graphics card, just know this thing has over 350 ppi with a native resolution of 4800 x 3000- not that you're going to use it, but it comes in useful in shit like terrain mapping."

Patrick, still stunned, said, "This is like living in a science fiction world."

"Really, man? Compare what we had in 2000, then what we have right now. The shocking part is that the military's only ten years ahead of the world, I was expecting centuries. Anyway, this thing runs a modified Windows OS that lets it run most things that a computer normally could. You also start off with a load of military-grade built-in programs that are more than ridiculously useful. They should all be explained during training, so I'm not going to bother. The battery should last you a good 7 hours on normal use, but it can recharge via solar energy, even a modified hand-crank in a panic, and basically everything. Solar energy would be useful to you, eh?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," said Patrick. "Aren't the military afraid of this stuff being public?"

"Why would they? Every other country has just as good tech, if not better. I'd be surprised if this is anywhere near the stuff their actual operatives use. They probably needed to get rid of these and figured giving it to us is a good way to do that. Plus, do you really think any newspaper, or any site, in the world, would publish this? You're not a naive idiot."

Closing his laptop, Patrick picked up his phone. Attaching it to the wrist strap and clicking on the strap to his left hand was very intuitive. He threw a questioning look at the Lloyd person.

"Yeah, that thing's going to be pretty awesome. It's about as powerful as your average high-end gaming computer, same kind of battery and stuff as your laptop. Runs modified Android, built-in apps. This is what you're gonna be using in the field, so get ready, man."

Patrick stayed up pretty late that night.

"Hey, Lyra," said Patrick. "Worked on that little idea?"

Lyra smiled. "Used my natural charisma, you see," she said. "Apparently it's considered bad luck to build your own weapon. Several people volunteered to build mine, and they even helped me with yours."

"Natural charisma indeed...say, how many of those people would be of the male persuasion?" winked Patrick.

Lyra extracted a shining Scottish Claymore from the massive scabbard she had slung across her back. She then took the scabbard off and gave it to Patrick. It was nearly five feet long.

Patrick took it and turned it over. Turning around, he practised a slash or two.

"Pretty well balanced," he said. "Gonna take a while to get used to it, but I think I can handle the weight."

In response to Patrick's unasked question, Lyra said, "Feel it. In the middle of the hilt."

Patrick felt for it. He clicked the spot and focused his natural energy.

The sword materialised into two. Patrick held a cutlass in his left hand and some kind of shortsword in his right.

"Cutlass and katzbalger. German arming sword. If you notice, the cutlass has a serrated edge. Slashing sword goes in your weak hand, stabbing sword, which requires more control, goes in your right hand. Your scabbard splits into two, too."

"Holy shit," said Patrick, staring down at his two weapons. Each of them were nearly two and a half feet long. "Thanks, Lyra. I owe you one."

"Ehhh, think of it as payback for that diamond necklace. By the way, carry them in dual mode. Much easier than lugging around a five foot sword."

"Thanks a lot, Ly. What'd you get?"

Lyra took out a tanto from a small scabbard mounted just below her right shoulder. It was about one and three-quarter feet long. The hilt was shining black. She switched her grip to a reverse, then back to normal.

"This is pretty damn good," she said.

Patrick agreed with her. "Why's your sheath in a bit of a odd place...right below your shoulder, wouldn't it be more efficient on your belt, or something?" he asked, slipping his swords back into the- now dual- scabbards on his back.

Lyra just sheathed her sword.

Then she turned around and took it back out and threw it all in one fluid motion.

The hilt unravelled. One end of it stayed attached to Lyra's hand. It was made of some kind of impossible thin material.

The tanto buried itself into a rock a good ten feet away.

Then she flicked her hand and the knife seemingly magically spun itself back to create a working dagger.

"Carbon nanotubes and magic. One hell of a combination, Pat," said Lyra.


	3. Chapter 2: Preliminary Preparations

**CHAPTER TWO**

"**Preliminary Preparations"**

"_I walk a lonely road,_

_The only one that I have ever known,_

_Don't know where it goes,_

_But it's only me and I walk alone._

_I walk this empty street,_

_On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams,_

_When the city sleeps _

_And I'm the only one and I walk alone._

_(I walk alone, I walk alone)_

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there would find me_

_Till then I walk alone"_

_- Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day_

Patrick was alone at the edge of the lake.

Lyra was in the firearms research building.

Patrick looked out to the lake. He had always liked water. He liked the freedom of movement that came with it. He liked the rush of diving into a pool of water after spending some time out in the 40C heat.

He'd never seen a really beautiful lake before. He meant to enjoy this one. He sat near the edge and just stared out. When you're under prophecy to save the world, not much time for you to enjoy the simpler pleasure.

Especially when calls of "What're you doing, ghetto bitch?" come from behind you.

Patrick didn't betray much of any outward emotions. He slowly stood up, brushed himself off, and turned around.

He saw exactly five teenagers staring at him. He did not know who they were, but guessed, and perhaps not unreasonably, that they were children of Ares. All of them were male. One of them was standing in front of the rest of the group. He was quite obviously the one who had made the call. He was maybe two inches taller than Patrick.

"Well, I _was_ thinking about my girlfriend, but now I'm thinking of the many ways I can kill you without touching these swords," he said, calmly.

The lead guy burst into laughter. The rest of the group nervously joined in a second later.

"Tough guy, huh? What've you been doing, beating up old pussies at bus stops?"

"If by old pussy you mean your mother, maybe. Can't discount the possibility, you know."

The guy's face changed immediately, but it could not hide the tiny moment of stupid joy as he got an excuse to beat up the newcomer.

"Hey, what the fuck did you just say about me, you faggot?" he said, as he stomped towards Patrick.

Patrick ever so gently moved slightly to his left. He was now standing directly on the bank.

"I implied that your mother was a slut. Your brain too thick to understand that?"

The bully started winding up for a punch. Like most people who've never been in any kind of fight, he thought that the only kind of punch was a right hook. Well and good for scaring and screwing over kids who you're five years older than. Not any kind of good idea for someone who's spent half his childhood knocking out people who also spent half their childhood knocking out people.

Patrick could easily have dodged it. He decided not to. He threw his hand out and caught the punch. He was aiming to catch it before it got any real momentum. He failed in that aspect. He ended up catching the fist quite late in its swing.

He did succeed in his main objective, which was to prevent the blow from doing serious damage, and to significantly intimidate the other people in the group.

Then he twisted his arm free, planted his foot firmly in the ground, and scooped up.

Mud splattered all over the bully.

Patrick continued the follow-through and took a step forward to be on solid ground.

Shocked, the guy looked at his shirt and pants for a moment, then stepped towards Patrick and grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him backwards, yelling something incoherent.

Patrick took a step or two backwards, as he meant to do. He finished standing by the tip of his heel, nearly falling over backwards.

Then his feet seesawed back on his toes on the same boots he'd been wearing since school. They continued, bounced off the ground, and Patrick gathered momentum and sunk his forehead into the bridge of the nose of the bully. He had been crouching slightly, from the exertion of pushing. Now his head was slamming towards the ground and his nose was spurting blood and Patrick's Camp Half-Blood shirt was blotted a dark red near the collar.

The other four members of the group screamed wildly and danced around the guy now lying on the floor and clutching his nose and seemed to be unsure whether to rush at Patrick or help their leader or just run away.

They were saved from that choice by a massive "What the hell's going on here?" a few feet away.

Patrick and the other guys all turned in succession. Two girls were striding towards them; Patrick recognised one as Clarisse from Percy's description of her, but he didn't know the other girl.

"Guy attacked me. I just defend myself," said Patrick, calmly.

"You broke his nose?" said Clarisse.

"Just a wayward headbutt. I meant to knock his tooth out, but I jumped too high."

Clarisse waited a moment and thought.

"Kassidy, take them back to the camp and get this guy some nectar or something, would you?"

Kassidy nodded.

"Oy, you four. Help get this guy to his feet. Stop whining, Tony. It's just a broken nose, don't act like you broke your skull."

Clarisse waited until they were out of earshot and then looked at Patrick.

"Don't worry. I was watching from there. Sprained your wrist?"

Patrick looked down at his right hand and nodded. He cradled it with his other hand and flexed his fingers a little.

"Wanted to break that bastard's arm. Would probably get me on toilet-cleaning duty for the rest of the week, so I didn't." He looked up. "Should really have dodged that punch, but what the hell."

"It's OK. They heal easily. You probably haven't had a sprain before, I guess. Where you come from, nobody's stupid enough to punch."

Patrick smiled a little. "Well, we're off to a good start. At least you didn't try to dunk my head into the toilet. Given up on that little tradition?"

"Don't push it, newbie. Maybe we did it to your girlfriend and you're next in line."

"You didn't do shit to Lyra. You're still walking."

Clarisse grinned.

"You're my type of guy, y'know?"

"Not really. You're a fighter. I'm a brawler. And don't get me wrong, I'm no fan of your father."

"Don't push it. Lyra's not the only one in firearms research. My boyfriend's in there too. She talks about you quite a lot of the time, according to Chris."

"Well, maybe you should ask her what happened to the last guy who got me piss-boilingly angry."

Clarisse stared at him for a while.

"Well, maybe I should, tough guy."

Then she walked off.

"Getting off to a good start, eh?" came a voice from behind him.

Patrick spun around again and saw Apollo. He was stretching his arms behind his head and grinning.

"Can't be alone for a moment in here, now can I," muttered Patrick.

"Give your grandpa a break, Pat," came the reply. He looked at Patrick's wrist and winked at it. It healed instantly.

"Oh. Uh. Thanks," said Patrick, stretching his wrist slightly. "So, um, did you come here about a sprained wrist or what?"

"Well, Athena up there already did her bit in helping you, so maybe it's about time I do something, huh?"

Apollo removed his hands from behind his head to reveal some kind of bracelet. He tossed it at Patrick like a frisbee. Like some kind of homing missile, it attached itself high on Patrick's left upper arm.

"Uhhh, thanks for the armband?" said Patrick, adjusting his t-shirt sleeve to hide it as best he could.

Apollo grinned again.

"Any gift from the Gods isn't quite normal. Try playing around with it sometime."

Then he disappeared as Patrick blinked.

I remember that day pretty clearly, actually. I think it was the day we made a huge breakthrough. Late morning? Yeah, I was probably in the gun lab by then. It was my second day there, and we were testing the accuracy of the pistols if I remember.

I walked in the target room. Put on the hearing protection and arm brace like usual. The brace wasn't necessarily needed, but it's always good to make sure. Those things had ridiculous recoil, even after all those tests and modifications. Let's see...the first three or four were fine, I recall. I managed to hit the bullseye perfectly, with the modified laser sight. Distance? Exactly fifty feet, I believe. The gun's maximum effective range was estimated to be 150 feet, if you were an Olympic sharpshooter, but fifty would do just fine for an accuracy test. The laser sight was the killer, really. Highly visible, but who cares? It was perfectly aligned with the barrel. Straight up point and shoot. The fifth one, now, Prototype XII, it was out of sync. First shot went completely wide, so I thought maybe I missed. Used the flip-on scope and aimed carefully and fired. Still barely grazed the edge. Gave it to Chris with a murmured "Check it."

That was the only one that had problems with that batch, I reckon. Couple more weeks and you could start mass-producing them, probably. Still annoying, though. Want me to explain the details? OK. Well, look, if firing a 22 cartridge breaks your arm, you're not going to go higher than that. We want handguns, so rifles are out of the question. Recoil's a simple matter. The higher the weight, the less recoil you- the shooter- feels. That's why there was absolutely no problem at all with packing everything you could onto it. There was a flip-on scope and a laser sight for now. Suppressors were being talked about, but it wouldn't help much in the beginning. At the same time, though, you didn't want to go overboard. You wanted something you could conceal, something that wasn't too cumbersome to carry. That's where you had the strike the most annoying balance.

We were using a SIG Mosquito as the base. Of course, even by when I got in, it had been so massively modified the guy who designed it wouldn't have recognized it. It was a nice gun; small, high quality, chambered correctly(not that it matters, but we didn't need to modify that, at least), was easy to modify with sights or scopes, was even threaded for a suppressor. Didn't understand any of that, eh? Well, it was pretty tiny by the scope of guns, the barrel was less than 4 inches- which meant accuracy wasn't too good, but more than good enough to get on with. High quality- it was a SIG Sauer. Among the best of gun makers- you're not going to find any problems with that. It was chambered for the 22, which was good, because that's what we were going to use.

Now, the killer was, we thought of using subsonic bullets. Normally, you use one in your average semi-auto pistol, the gun won't cycle properly. There's not going to be enough energy to drive another bullet in the chamber. But that was no problem at all here. We had an excess of recoil. So let's recap. What we had were numerous modifications to the gun itself, we had as much stuff as we could packed onto it, we had the perfect kind of bullet to do it with.

It still wasn't enough. The recoil drove your hand a good foot upwards, if it didn't break your arm. There was no way you could aim correctly with it if you didn't have an arm brace. And who the hell can wear a heavy, cumbersome brace in the middle of combat? Nobody.

And that's where the breakthrough lay.

I'm not going to claim it was my idea entirely. But I did have a hand in it. Why not create a better arm brace? Why not work on something that wasn't cumbersome?

And that's when it really started.

Incidentally, Prototype XII- the gun that was out of sync- it wasn't anything to do with the alignment of the laser. As I'm sure everyone knows, celestial steel isn't ultra-rare, but it's still pretty damn rare. We didn't have much of it, and we couldn't mass-produce it, so every bullet had to be made by hand. Which meant that imperfections could be possible. Now, what happened was, that magazine that was in there, the guy who made it, he didn't make it correctly. There was an error that was way too subtle for me to understand about, but the point is that because it wasn't correctly made the bullet went way off. Now, this is the good part. I didn't think about it at the time, but a little later, I realised that those two shots had lower recoil than anything else. I was wearing an arm brace anyway, so it wasn't really noticeable, but the more I thought about it, I was convinced it wasn't right. But I still didn't figure it out. Not then. It was stupid of me, but I do shit like this all the time. What I thought was, the laser and scope was out of sync with the barrel, right? Well, I'm no physicist, but I thought maybe the changed position of them altered the recoil slightly. Maybe it lined up better. Obviously that kind of discovery wasn't useful to us. So I discarded it at the time.

Where was I? Arm brace. Right. Well, that whole thing ended up in-

Patrick gripped the swords tightly in his hand.

"You're holding them too tightly," said Percy.

It was the first time Patrick got to actually use his weapons. For the previous week, he had been practicing with dummies and with wooden sticks. Then he had been practicing with robots and wooden sticks.

Patrick loosened his grip slightly.

Percy sighed and manually adjusted the grip.

"You don't want it to slip out. You also want to actually move the damn things."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Percy looked at the shining ring on Patrick's left hand.

"You might want to put that aside. It's going to affect your balance with the cutlass."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that."

He took off the ring, then pulled and stretched it and put it high on his shoulder again.

"Careful. You don't want to get numb."

"Don't worry. It's not that tight."

"Cross your swords across your chest...bit higher...not that high...good enough for now. Now, listen up. You've been doing some research on this stuff, I guess?"

"A little, yeah."

"You know to defend with the flat of your sword?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, that's bullshit. Forget that, because these swords are indestructible. Of course, you're still going to want to use your flat a lot, because it's far better, but the edge is still bloody useful, and when you got two swords...yeah."

"Got it."

"Attack."

Patrick carefully walked forward. Percy gave a quick stab, using his longer reach. Patrick managed to dodge it. He took a step backward, and they began circling each other.

Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, with not so much as a tensing of the leg muscles for a giveaway, Percy charged straight at him, holding his sword almost perpendicular. Patrick tried to knock his sword away. Percy twisted his sword first slightly to the left, then smashed it to the right.

Patrick was now completely unarmed.

"Let's try that again, shall we?"

Patrick picked up his swords.

Percy came in close and started a full-on swordfight.

It ended exactly the same way.

"Try attacking this time," said Percy.

Patrick stabbed with the katzbalger and slashed with the cutlass. Percy sidestepped to avoid the stab and blocked the cutlass easily. Patrick quickly brought his katz back for a side-stab. Percy ducked under it, and took out Patrick's feet from under him.

The feed suddenly staticed out and disappeared.

Patrick took off the VR helmet and took a tiny moment to regain his senses. Harry was the one who'd turned off the VR.

"Sorry 'bout that, but it's important stuff here. We need you at the tech tent, Pat."

"Why?"

"Dunno. They didn't tell me, that's for sure. Lyra's there too."

Patrick pushed the door and went in. Lyra was already there.

"Brooks, is it? Pleased to meet you, I'm Major Tom," said a guy in military uniform, holding out his hand. His attention seemed more focused on the computers to the right with three of them occupied at the time.

"Thank you, sir, could I know why I'm here?"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Emmerich will fill you in," he said, pointing to the third guy sitting on the computer, to the right. He had two monitors open, and was running two different programming languages. Patrick didn't know what they were.

"Your name wouldn't be Hal, would it?" said Lyra, smiling slightly.

The guy called Emmerich swivelled around and said, "No. No it would not." He winked and swivelled back to the screens and started talking.

"We got a contact down in LA. Close to where you were. You're going to need to get to him manually."

"...Details, please?"

"Alright, fine. Guy's your age. Far as we know, he goes to a high school. We're trying to break into this damn database site to get more info. Never seen a government site with this much security before. Hey, Shaggy, any luck with Man-in-the-middle?" he yelled across to the guy on the left.

"Nope. Bloody hell, why aren't we just getting a damn warrant? Sir?"

"You know as well as I do that we can't risk doing that for no obvious reasons, Smith...there's a reason even the damn cop shows show 'em getting warrants, and-"

He was suddenly interrupted by a rather rude "BULLSHIT, tell me you're fucking kidding me! This is not fucking happening!" by the guy in the middle, who hadn't yet spoken.

The Major sighed. "Mind your language, we got kids here, Mark. What's the problem?"

Mark turned around. There was that kind of exasperated and pleased look in his eye that only those who respect breaking into something have.

"I can't be sure here, but this is the most ridiculous shit I've ever seen. Looks to me like if you take the site down, you get a vulnerability."

The other tech guys said simultaneous "What?"s and swivelled over to Mark's screens for a look. There was about a minute-long hushed conversation as Patrick, Lyra, and Major Tom looked on, slightly confused, before they straightened up.

"Still don't know, man. Could be a honeypot." said the guy named Emmerich.

"Come on, mang. No government site's gonna have that kind of shit," said Shaggy.

"Damn thing did have all those precautions so far," said Mark.

"What the hell are you babbling about?" said Major Tom.

Mark sighed. "Look, like I said, it's looking like the only way to do this is to temporarily take their main site down, and then we can exploit a hole in their security to get access to their servers."

"But it might be a trap," added Emmerich.

"Do we have our asses covered if it is a trap?" asked Patrick. "Sorry, Major," he added.

"It's ok."

"Yeah, man, I don't think they'll trace it back here. Looks like our only chance."

The Major said, "Go for it."

There was another brief hushed conversation. Then Shaggy and Mark went back to their computers and started typing furiously again. Emmerich opened a drawer and took out two flash drives and threw them to Lyra and Patrick.

"Put those into your computers. We're going for a DDoS. You're alright with that?"

"Yep."

"Alright. This will download a software. Run it, but don't do anything else just yet. We need to do a little preparation. Five of us should be enough with this shit."

"Alright."

"It's clear, we're ready," said Mark.

"Alright, prep mine, I'm gonna do and take care of theirs. Pat, Lyra, let's go!"

"It worked! It fucking worked, man, I told you!"

The techies high fived themselves and opened a bottle of champagne. Then they said, "Yeah, best to download this database before they see the damn thing. Only 20 GB, should be done in five mins."

"Who the hell's our contact if we're making so much damn fuss? Why'd you call us anyway?" Patrick asked the Major.

The Major started to answer, but he was forestalled by a very familiar voice coming from the back of the room.

"The contact," said Athena, walking into the room, "is a very famous, very powerful demigod. Or at least...he used to be a demigod. Of course, even that was a secret." She sighed. "Now he is immortal."

"Well, who is it?"

"Oedipus."

The room went somewhat speechless for a while.

Patrick found his voice eventually. He said, "Why the hell's Oedipus in high school?"

"It was his wish to have eternal youth. He chose to be 20 then, but also asked that he be allowed to change this age every 50 years. I suspect he won't want to be 17 when 2020 comes up, but that is not the point. You were called in because we hoped you had any experience whatsoever with the databases of systems in schools."

"I didn't. I'm good with computers, but not that good."

"Download complete," said Mark.

Lyra looked at the name on the screen. Then she gave a low whistle. Then she looked at the techs and said, sharply, "Take your precautions and get out of there. You'll be traced if you stay there much longer, I guarantee it."

"What the-"

"Do it," said Patrick, after looking at the screen for a split second.

"We weren't traced. I can guarantee you."

"You're damn lucky you got into this."

Lyra looked at Patrick. "You always did want to get into this thing."

"I wish. We gonna be sent in?" said Patrick to the Major.

"What are you talking about?"

"This guy...he's from one of the most posh schools in LA. Probably in the US. All the rich-guy schools in LA get together for an absolutely bloody massive mid-summer party. You won't believe the shit that goes down there. That has to be the only way in, and don't even bother trying to raid it if you got the entire Marine force on your back. You can't do it, period."

"So what do you suggest?"

"You have to send someone in. I'd suggest us, seeing as, you know, we know the damn place better than anyone here."

Major Tom said, "I'll have to ask the General."

"Good, so that's confirmed. Lyra, do you remember the password for her?"

"Think so."

Patrick said to the Major again, "We need to use one of our contacts to get in. Don't bother, you do not have anyone who can get us in. I really hope our contact can." Then he looked at the techies and said "Turn off the firewall for my laptop's IP."

"What?"

"Even I have a code of honour, and IRC chats with VPNs on are annoying as hell. Just do it, would you? I know you have static internal IPs. Lyra told me."

"Fine."

Patrick walked quickly to his camp, picked up his laptop, went to his email, clicked on a link in a very old chatlog, then entered the password Lyra told him.

A little box popped up saying "Domain currently for sale."

"She's not here right now. Damn. Wait, I'll have the techs shut off the firewall for my phone and keep the site on. Ly?"

"Yeah, I'll do that too."

They walked back to the lab, where they met the General.

"Ah, I see you have the gift of foresight, at least. Was your contact any help?"

"She's not online right now. Could you tell the tech guys to put an exception to my phone as well?"

"They should've done it when they excluded your laptop. I'm curious," he continued, "Who exactly is your contact?"

"Probably the biggest pot dealer in LA." said Patrick, smiling a little.

"I see, and how exactly do you know her? What do you have to offer her?"

Patrick looked sideways at Lyra, who smiled slightly and said, "You always did want to tell this story, Pat."

Patrick returned the smile, and took a deep breath. Then he started telling the story.

"OK. This was two, three years ago. I had just gotten into the school- as you know, I was always a little young when I got registered. Those times- hell, even now- if you're new, you get into one of the clans, or guilds, or whatever you want to call them. You don't, you're fucked, it's as simple as that. I got lucky, wound up in one of the better ones. Lyra was also in this guild- yeah, that's kind of how I met Lyra. Anyway, at that time, she- and just by the way, I have no idea what her name is, nobody does- at the time, she was still pretty damn high up, but not on the top. She'd fucked up, she'd made an enemy of plenty of other dealers."

"Don't beat around the bush, Pat." She looked at the General. "She was fucking with LA's version of the Mob. You know them, right?"

"Yes, I do, actually. Memory serves me right, police caught the big guy couple years back. Your girl take over?" he asked Patrick.

"Think so. You'd have to ask someone else, I don't follow the Mob or drugs shit."

"Tell him the story, Pat."

"Alright. So she came to our guild for protection. Sounds like middle ages stuff, doesn't it? Guess what I stumbled upon when I was going back home from McDonald's. There were four of them, and they had her in an alley, right next to a dumpster. Didn't have guns, just knives. Guess they didn't want any attention, period. And- you ain't gonna believe this- I saw Lyra, couple metres from me. She'd obviously seen them, and she was looking at me. We were part of the damn guild too, y'know? Codes of honor go deep there. So we ran at them. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Lyra take out what I guessed were brass knuckles. Grabbed the guy on the right in a chokehold. We fought, I took care of him, element of surprise, blah blah. Turned around wondering how someone else hadn't tried to stab my ass and saw them all laid out and Lyra with a bloody-looking brass knuckle."

"Have you considered joining the Army? We could use more people like you," said the General.

Patrick took a deep breath. "That was the day when I stopped being a kid and became a man. You can fuck about with words all you like. The way I see it, when you run straight at four people holding knives and very fucking ready to use them because your guild's going to throw you out if you don't...that's when you become a man."

There was a few seconds of silence, then Patrick's phone beeped once.

"It's her, she's on now. I'll go talk to her."

Patrick walked some distance away.

General Bennett said, "I can't say I envy the childhood you had, Miss Curtis."

"You and I both know there are kids who never had one. LA is a shitty place to grow up if you're not rich, but there are worse places. At least I had my uncle. Patrick...didn't really have anybody."

"About...about this contact. She won't ask questions?"

"Doubt it. She knows a little about us, she'll probably think there's some asshole in the party who owes some guy we know money. That's how stuff works around there."

Patrick came back.

"Easy as crap. We're in. It's actually a black tie shit, almost as bad as prom. I guess we'd need formal suits and crap?"

"Well, if it's really as posh as you say it is, you'd need to get measured for a tuxedo. And strictly speaking, the term is semi-formal."

"Alright. Party's on Saturday next week, so we'll need that stuff by then. She'll be supplying our fake IDs and entrance passes. And...well, we're going to need some stuff, General. Let me see..."

"Patrick."

"Sir?"

The General walked around a bit and put his hand on Patrick's back.

"I know you're used to making split-second decisions, son. I know that it probably saved your life a few times. But this isn't the time."

"But the party's in two weeks. We need to be fast, wouldn't you say?"

"A week's a long time in politics and an age in the military, boy. This is technically an undercover mission, and I'm sending teenagers to it. Plans need to be made, Patrick. Now listen. Go with Lyra. Talk to your girl again if you need to. Make an absolute list of everything you need. Then make another. And another. When you're absolutely sure, make another. Keep checking, and I'll take care of the plan. Hell, we haven't even confirmed the information from the site yet."

Patrick smiled, slightly.

"You could have told me you were bringing in the Marines."

General Bennett started walking back to the tent.

"I didn't think I'd need to."


	4. Chapter 3: The Big City

**CHAPTER 3**

"**The Big City"**

"_All around me are familiar faces_

_Worn out places_

_Worn out faces_

_Bright and early for the daily races_

_Going nowhere_

_Going nowhere_

_Their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression_

_No expression_

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow_

_No tomorrow_

_And I find it kind of funny_

_I find it kind of sad_

_The dreams in which I'm dying _

_Are the best I've ever had_

_I find it hard to tell you_

_I find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles _

_It's a very very_

_Mad World"_

_- Mad World, Tears for Fears_

Patrick buttoned up his suit carefully. It was not a very expensive suit; it was fairly cheap, but it was still able to stand up, head high, and proudly proclaim itself to be a suit. It had been chosen carefully in accordance with all of his clothing and other equipment that day. He looked closely at himself in the mirror, before moving closer to the camera of the laptop laid on a table. The General gave him a thumbs-up, so he continued with it, carefully adjusting his cufflinks, and adjusting his tie-knot. He then put on the jacket part of his suit, and buttoned that up, too, before opening a drawer in the hotel room and extracting the knife. Pausing for a moment to decide, he settled for storing it in a back pocket, as if he was in any kind of a reaction scenario a knife would be fairly useless. Then he opened a small tub of caffeine powder and took a spoonful, as he doubted he would be able to stay up to well into the early hours of the morning on his own power. He put his wallet carefully into his right jacket pocket, put his boots on and tied them. He went over to the laptop for a final check. The General held down the mic button and repeated his primary objectives. Patrick nodded, and gave a final thumbs-up, and shut the laptop down carefully. Then he went out of the room, closed it, and locked it. He went downstairs, gave the keycard to reception, and walked out of the hotel, where he met Lyra.

"You're late, again," said Lyra.

"Suits are a pain in the ass to put on; you only have to wear a cocktail dress," replied Patrick.

They fistbumped briefly and then split up through the massive city called Los Angeles.

The sun had set two hours ago; the office rush was just about over. The streets were going through a comparatively quiet period. Patrick was fairly close to where he was assured that the party was going to be held, when a drug dealer across the street saw him, did a double-take, and walked slowly up to him.

Before he was even close to Patrick, he said, "Are you Patrick Brooks?"

Patrick looked slowly at the dealer, stiffened up, and said, "Who's asking?"

"She is, man. The boss."

"I'm going to need to see some evidence of that. She wouldn't have sent you without any."

"Oh, yeah, there was something about that shit. Wait a bit," he said, digging into his jeans pocket- Patrick instinctively clenched his fists and shifted his weight- but all he came out with was a fairly new phone. He scrolled down it, and, obviously reading out a text or email, said, "She said that, uh...the brass knuckles of Lyra were made of...bone? Some girl, eh?"

Patrick remained unmoved and said, "What do you want?"

"She, uh, wanted to pass on a message to you. I ain't supposed to read it, so there you go, man." He scrolled a little more, and gave the phone to Patrick, saying, "Click the link."

Patrick skimmed through the email, and it looked legit, and was the kind of wording he imagined she used with her street dealers, so he clicked on the link and came to a page. It said:

"Pat. Party had change of plans. Nobody allowed in without enough of the good stuff for at least one guy. Problems about this last year. And don't bother wasting your money. If I wasn't running a smooth enough business that I couldn't give away couple bags of weed, I'd be going down tomorrow. It's a little diluted and weak, cause I thought you wouldn't want to get too high at this party, whatever the fuck it is you wanna do. This isn't over yet. Two invites and a couple bags of weed aren't shit for saving my ass back then. Keep safe.

- Your friendly neighbourhood drug dealer."

Patrick looked up, and saw the dealer holding out two fairly large, as far as he could see, bags of something even he could recognize as marijuana.

"This your first time?" asked the guy.

"Yep."

"Oh, alright, wait a bit. Wanna learn how to roll a joint, bro?"

"I'm in a bit of a hurry right now, so..."

"Some other time, then. Must've done something pretty big for the boss, eh?"

He rolled the weed into joints and gave the stuff to Patrick. As he was walking away, the guy said, "Give me this Lyra girl's number some day, eh?"

"I'll tell you if we ever break up," said Patrick.

"Remember the plan, right?"

"Yep. Hope I recognize his aura or he recognizes ours. Otherwise, this is going to be for nothing."

"And remember, don't be too bothered with any fake covers. Technically, this is all legit."

"Yep," said Patrick.

He stepped forward and knocked on the very old-looking door. It was opened by your typical bouncer for these kind of things.

"Whatchu want, kid?" he growled.

"I'm, um, I'm here for the p-party," said Patrick.

The bouncer squinted.

"What's the password?"

"They d-didn't say anything about a password, they gave me this p-pass," he stammered. "And, I brought some weed like they said?"

The bouncer looked it over, squinted at the joint, then smiled and said, "Relax, kid. You're in."

Patrick went in and headed straight for an unoccupied corner. He grinned.

And Lyra had thought he couldn't pull off the nervous nerd.

She came in five minutes later, looking exactly like she belonged there. She went up to Patrick and said, over the music, "Anything yet?"

"It's been five minutes, relax."

They watched the party. Over the dubstep- which Patrick had to admit was pretty damn good party music- people were club dancing, making out in some corner, whatever. Some teens in a corner, wearing high-end noise-cancelling headphones that was most of the annual salary of even your average white collar, were headbanging to presumably some hard metal while playing some FPS on LAN on their laptops. Patrick's eye drew longingly to them, then turned away.

A waiter asked him, "Drink?"

"None of the booze just yet, thanks man. Got any Coke, please?"

"Yes, sure."

"And, a...?"

"I'll have a Dr. Pepper, thank you," said Lyra.

As the waiter went away, Patrick muttered, "Be careful, don't end up with a caffeine overdose or some shit."

"Eh, don't worry about me."

They checked their watches. It was merely 9 PM; but they had been forced to hold this party on a Wednesday, so it would be over by midnight at the most. Work hard, party hard was the motto of these kids- Patrick didn't blame them, because he had some idea of the expectations laden on them.

There was a sudden voice announcement, interrupting the music.

"It's time, bitches. Any of you want to do the good stuff, your time starts now. Anything hard in the main room and you know what happens."

The lights, which had been typical disco lights so far, suddenly were far brighter. Patrick blinked once or twice and then realised that the house was far bigger than he had thought. He'd thought that this was the only room. But there were many, many doors there. Some were open, and led, as far as he could see, to pretty large normal rooms- or bedrooms. He suspected the bedrooms were quite rarely used, from what he knew of rich kids. Then again, he didn't know that much.

They had been waiting for quite some time now. Lyra was slightly annoyed.

"This might be a bit of a waste."

"Eh, might as well enjoy it while we can. Look, the music's awesome."

Unfortunately, at that point some random guy got into the karaoke machine and started absolutely butchering some reggae song or the other. It developed a mysterious malfunction after about ten seconds and the guy went off somewhere else.

A waiter came up to Patrick.

"Excuse me, sir, you are Patrick Brooks, yes?"

Their cover IDs had used the exact same names, on the basis that nobody who knew them could possibly turn up in this particular party.

"Yes, why?"

"There is a message for you from someone who wishes to remain anonymous."

Patrick tore open the envelope he was handed. He stared at the message for a few seconds. Then he smiled and said, "Please, could you inform him, I...kind of don't swing that way."

The waiter said, "The message will be delivered: But don't bother trying to follow me and see who it is." Rather than theatrical, it felt like a serious message.

Then he disappeared into the crowd.

Patrick turned to Lyra and said, "The message was nonsense, but it was quite obviously a code. First letter of each word, he probably wanted us to, uh, "break" it, if you can even call it that."

Lyra grinned. "Oedipus?"

"Has to be. Message was, 'Half-blood, play the piano.' "

"You don't even know the piano. He must've thought you were a straight up Apollo's son."

"That's true, so I sent him back a message...unless..."

Patrick's gaze turned to one particular corner. He grinned. He grabbed a drink labelled as "Rum and Cola" out of several others on a tray from a waiter. Shrugging at Lyra, he shoved it straight down his throat. Good thing he'd had a half-decent meal before going there.

"So how'd your first ever alcoholic drink taste like?" asked Lyra, rolling her eyes.

"Coke, mostly."

Then Patrick went over to the DJ's station, had a quick conversation, which ended with Patrick now carrying no more drugs in his coat pocket. He then went over and popped inside the karaoke machine, which was mysteriously working again, muttered a little prayer to his grandfather, and waited for the music to come on to the only song he really knew how to sing.

"_Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you..."_

Thankfully, the machine continued working which he took as a good sign, so he continued singing. At the end of it, there was some scattered applause from some people who would just never let Britpop go.

He returned to Lyra, who muttered a "Not bad," and within a few seconds a guy had started walking up to them. Like the intel had said about Oedipus, he looked just about 18, and was built like, well, a Greek God. He gave off an aura quite obvious at that range, but fairly impossible to spot in any kind of crowd whatsoever.

"So, the children of the Gods have found me again. Can I never get any rest?"

"You...should know why we're here."

"Yes, of course, of course. Where is the mutant?" he said, with some quite obvious malice in his voice. "Didn't bring him with you?"

"I am," said Patrick, staring straight up at him.

Oedipus looked shocked for just half a second, then his face was smiling again.

"Of course, of course...it's been several decades since I have actively tried to feel the aura. You know," he said, "I could have you thrown out of here easily."

"Hardly. We have legitimate passes, and they don't care about fake IDs," said Lyra. "So tell us what you know about the damn prophecy."

Oedipus sighed. "Give this to one of the Gods. And if you open it yourself, I'm not responsible for your eyes being burned out."

With that, he left.

They kept a fairly low profile throughout the rest of the party. Some guy offered them a blunt, saying that he had way too much and couldn't go home too high, but didn't want to waste it all either. They refused as politely as they could, and he waddled off to offer it to someone else. They saw another guy being thrown out of the party- for what reason, they had no idea. Eventually, at just about 11, people started to leave. Having eaten their fill of the (very delicious) snacks there, they decided to get out early.

It was a pretty bad night. Very few people were out at all. Patrick had one hand in his pocket, clutching his knife. He wanted to make it obvious that he was carrying a knife. Normally a bad idea, but in this case the rewards outweighed the risks.

Oh, I was watching that night. Yes, being a God of Olympus has several advantages...I remember very clearly what was happening. As I recall, they were walking through that city, Los were keeping close and scanning everywhere, but that proved to be their downfall. As they were walking through a somewhat dark alley, headlights clicked on from something very near them, blinding them for just a half second. It was enough time for the bike to come roaring at them and them to dodge either way, the best they could. Enough time for the man on the bike to snatch Patrick's knife that he had taken out of his coat. Let me narrate, now...

Patrick got up quickly, but it was too late. There were two people. One had got Lyra in a half-chokehold at knifepoint. The other was pointing a gun at Patrick. It was lit fairly well by headlights. It was a pretty damn old gun. He couldn't be sure from that distance, but it was definitely massive, and at least it looked like a revolver. In his other hand, which was thickly gloved, he was holding Patrick's knife, blade first.

"Thought that tiny knife could save you and your piece of ass, fucking city boy?" said one of them. He threw it on the ground and kicked it away. "We've been doing this for years, asshole."

Patrick chewed his lip for a few seconds.

Then he said, "I don't have much money in my wallet right now, but I'm willing to give what I do."

The man laughed. "That so? Maybe we'll take your fucking girlfriend then, bitch. Not the first time we've done that. Of course, she's probably lost it, so maybe we'll have some fun with her before we-"

There was a sudden thud and a crack, followed by a scream. Then the scream was just as suddenly silenced by another thud, along with a strange, sinister hissing sound, which was followed by yet another thud.

Then I looked at Lyra and saw her free and the man previously holding her at knifepoint was on his knees, clawing desperately at his own throat. There was blood very gently trickling out of his mouth, and his very chest was desperately struggling for breath, but getting nowhere.

Almost simultaneously with this, Patrick Brook's very essence was changing. His soul, if you would like to call it that, was morphing, and I could see it change. Normally, it would be indeed half man and half God- which was, yes, again divided. But now, I could see it change. His Godly powers expanded. You did not need to be a God to see it. On his face, it was obvious: the raging, scorching anger of the Sun, Apollo. It radiated pure power, and sent the same message: _You will be crushed by sheer power._ Yet, there was something else. An aura, almost. A very feeling in the atmosphere. The very feeling exuded by...Athena, yes. The feeling that told you that now, you were, to use the common word, completely screwed. That your opponent had a plan in mind, and would stop at absolutely nothing to do it, but would not even need to, because his plan would undoubtedly lead to your destruction. Power, and wisdom. A very dangerous combination.

Yes...at that moment, Patrick Brooks was no longer a mortal.

It registered. Somewhere in his mind, it still registered, that Lyra had stomped on the guy's foot, very hard, almost certainly breaking bones, then gone for a killing elbow to his throat. Crushed his larnyx. No oxygen at all, any more; and then she had driven a straight right to his stomach, to drive out what little he still had. But it did not matter, because he was now hell-bent on just one thing: The other man would die, and quickly, and painfully.

He had turned around in shock, and tried to aim his old revolver at Lyra as she ran away very fast, searching for cover, but he had ended up firing way above her, because the trigger was too heavy for him, and the recoil made the gun snap up into his head and made him lose his composure for a few seconds. And when he had regained it, he found himself smashed against a wall, by a very, very angry, highly trained through experience, demigod. And then he found his nose crushed, and his brain sent a distress signal and stopped working, because another skull's impact to his own had sent the entire system into disarray. And then a fist impacted it, and then there was a pause, and his nearly-closed eyes saw his attacker take a deep breath, and then his skull at the forehead was dented by another shot with the fist. And then his eyes closed, and while he would remain still alive for some time, it was not very long.

Patrick took many deep breaths, and swivelled around, because he was dizzy, and just managed to stop himself from throwing up. Lyra was sitting on a trash can, taking her shoes off to check for injuries, and also breathing hard but far more composedly.

"Are you all right?" she said.

"I...think so...shouldn't I be asking...you that?" said Patrick, panting. Then he straightened up, and looked at his left hand, which was now broken, like he meant it to be.

"I...OK..we need to phone the General, Lyra." He dug around and managed to pull out his phone, one-handed, and scroll through to call. "Whistle if you see policemen, okay?"

General Kevin picked up almost immediately. Patrick doubted he had been sleeping.

"Hello, sir?"

"Yes, Patrick?"

Patrick hesitated. The General's voice sounded...off.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

There was a pause, and then a barely heard sigh, and he said, "No, no, it's fine here. What's the matter?"

Patrick said, quickly, "Two men attacked us. There was a gunshot in the fight, but I think we ended up killing them. We're not injured, except I broke my left hand, on purpose, because the police won't believe much else. They're gonna come very soon and I'm pretty sure there's still a tiny bit of alcohol in my bloodstream, plus Lyra's still carrying some weed from the party- I'll explain later- but what I'm saying is, get us a lawyer or something...and sir, I suggest making this number someone private."

Lyra whistled urgently. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw policemen coming near them, and an ambulance.

He said, as loudly as he thought he could safely bluff it, "Yes, uncle, I don't know how, I...I think we killed them...the police are coming...yes, okay...okay man, please be quick with that bail?"

The policemen came closer to them. They saw the scene, and there was almost a little panic.

"Freeze! Drop any weapons you are carrying, now!"

Patrick gingerly put both hands in the air, and said, loudly, "Sir, we don't have any weapons. Out of these, one of the knives was mine, my uncle made me carry it. It is legal under California law, and if you want to restrain us, please note that my left hand is broken. Thank you."

Lyra had also put her hands up. The policemen came up to them, and said, "I'm going to have to search you. Whether you consent or not doesn't matter, because of the gunshot, but if you do, it'll be far better. Miss, you can request a woman officer to search you."

Lyra said, "I do request one, thank you."

Patrick said, "Sure man, you can search me."

One officer duly searched Patrick, and nodded.

A woman officer came out from somewhere behind the ambulance. Before she searched Lyra, she said, "Bag of weed, right- sorry, your left- pocket."

She nodded, pulled it out, searched Lyra, then nodded to some officer. Another guy came out from behind the ambulance, followed by yet another, who checked both of the muggers now lying on the ground and hustled Patrick's one onto an ambulance and clipped a "He's dead" to Lyra's. The first guy came forward.

He asked, "OK, what exactly happened here?"

Patrick looked at Lyra, and nodded, and stammering just a little, and stopping when describing the killing blows, ended up describing the story.

"We will get forensics on this, of course, but I've gotta say, your story checks out with what I see. If what you say's true, you shouldn't have any problems in court, and, well," he looked at the weed on the car trunk, "Don't worry about that, it's obviously personal use. We're going to have to take you to the police station, for now. If you want, I'll let you make another phone call to your...uncle, was it? To tell him where you're going."

Patrick duly made the phone call.

The officer asked Lyra, "You or your friend aren't high or drunk now, right?"

"Nope. You can do blood tests if you want."

Patrick hung up the phone and said, "Yes, you can do a blood test."

"Alright, we'll do that at the station. I'm going to officially put you under arrest now. Now, please tell me your names..."

"Thank you, sir, we're really grateful."

"No problem, no problem," said General Kevin, somewhat heavily. "You and Miss Lyra are all right, I hope?"

"We're fine, thank you. Fist hurts a lot, but Apollo fixed it up for me."

"Did he now? Even in the camp, the Mist, I believe you call it? It affects all of us...regular beings," he said. "Thankfully, we can still see...most things," he added.

Patrick hesitated and shared a glance with Lyra.

She said, gently, "Sir, is something wrong?"

He breathed out once and said, in a soft voice, "My nephew was seriously injured in Afghanistan. IED. He's in a coma and the doctors say it's the toss of a coin. I won't bore you with battalions and crews, but he was one of the best marksmen of the Army. His loss means as much to the Army as it does to me."

Patrick was shocked. Immediately afterwards, he was uncomfortable, because he didn't like dealing with these situations. Lyra had a twitch in her cheek muscle and was staring at the floor.

General Kevin leaned forward in his chair.

"Sorry. Something like this shouldn't affect me that much. He's...not my only nephew, thank God. Or I suppose you would say the Gods. You should go back to the camp now."


	5. Chapter 4: Preparations

**CHAPTER 4**

"**Preparations"**

"_Where've all the good men gone?_

_Where are all the Gods?_

_Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?_

_Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?_

_Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need_

_I need a hero_

_I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night_

_He's gotta be strong_

_And he's gotta be fast_

_And he's gotta be fresh from the fight_

_I need a hero_

_I'm holding out for a hero till the morning light_

_He's gotta be strong_

_He's gotta be soon_

_And he's gotta be larger than life"_

_- Holding Out For a Hero, Bonnie Tyler_

Patrick was in his camp. It was 10 PM, and he would have probably been getting ready to go to bed, but he wasn't, because Chiron had just arrived at the camp to notify him of summons from the Council of Gods. He quickly got ready, assuming it was about the letter from Oedipus, and met Chiron and Lyra already outside.

"Chopper again?" he asked.

"Actually, this time I have a sneaking suspicion that the trip will be...rather faster."

Hermes appeared out of thin air right next to them.

He smiled and said, "God of travel, ready to cut down travel times by more than a thousand percent! Ready to meet the council?"

"Sure, let's go."

In a very short time they were standing in the middle of Olympus, blinking and adjusting their eyes to the light. As Percy had told them, it was still in the process of being rebuilt, but...the majesty, the grandeur, the feeling of being in a room with fourteen beings who control the entire Earth was quite overwhelming and hard to reproduce.

True to form, neither of them said anything much as they walked slowly along the path to the main throne room.

Once they reached, they silently looked around the throne room. There were fourteen now, as Hades now had a throne, and Hestia had been invited to join again. There was a brief moment of silence, as Zeus, Poseidon and Hades were having a brief, whispered discussion together, before they returned to their thrones and Zeus stood up.

"Patrick Brooks," he said. "Lyra Curtis. I...We...are sure that you have many questions about the current state of affairs. The Council has come to the decision that it is time to explain to you what we know, how much we know. We...we formally apologise for not having explained to you beforehand. Our reasons, however, you will understand once we explain."

Patrick inclined his head and said, "So what do you know?"

Zeus glanced at Athena and sat down; she stood up.

"Let us start from the beginning...that begins with you, Patrick. It has already been explained to you that you...your characteristics...they are rare. Impossibly rare. You are the first of this kind for much over two and a half thousand years. There was a prophecy written, about this. When it has been written...we don't know. And we don't know much of the contents either. What we do know..."

She looked at Apollo and sat back down on her throne, he nodded and stood up.

"Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, God of prophecy to the rescue. Let's see, what do we know again?" He materialized a legal pad out of thin air and started flicking through the pages, licking his finger every once in a while. "Ah, yeah. It's old, of course. Very old. Like Athena over there said, we don't even know how old it is. And it's about you! To be specific, it's about any old guy of your kind, a guy whose both parents were demigods and you somehow ended up with their powers. And I'm not mincing words here, we have good reason to believe it also has to do with Lyra, a.k.a the girlfriend of said guy. Mind you, I'm still not sure if this is supposed to be translated as "girlfriend" or "sister", but you don't have a sister so let's go with that." He gave a short laugh, then he became serious.

"OK, this is the bad part. Seriously bad. I hope you know the ancient creation myths- basically, at first there was Chaos, and then Gaia, and a lot of other Titans emerged from it. We don't have much data on this, since, y'know, it was before even us, but it says it happens. And it says that another being emerged from it. Which would be "activated", so to speak, by your birth."

"I'm guessing this other being won't be very friendly to the current state of affairs," said Patrick.

"You can say that again."

He sat down, and Zeus stood up.

"This being...this...monstrosity...is unimaginably powerful. That is all we know about it. Absolutely nothing else. But when Gaia herself proclaims a being to be unimaginably powerful...well, to say the least, the Titan of the Earth has a very powerful imagination. I cannot stretch this point enough, Brooks, this is the most danger the world has ever been in, and I was standing on a mountain alone when Kronos had ripped through all the other Gods; I was there when our best efforts were barely enough to take Typhon down. This being is stronger than all of that combined."

There was silence for a few moments.

Lyra said, "Explain the military and all the upgrades you've got for the camp. How would that help?"

Athena said, "I believe you know. Sometimes, the old weapons may not be strong enough. And sometimes, the Mist may not be enough. And mortals are stronger than most think them to be," she added, glancing for just a second at Ares, who missed it.

"So," said Patrick, "just for a quick review, I'm going to end up in single combat with a being stronger than every God and Titan put together, and I'm expected to win it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say every God and Titan; we're notorious for being unable to work together," said Hades.

"But your summary is rather good," he added.

"Feel free to ask me for training, kid. I might indulge you," said Ares, grinning.

There was a very intentional pause as Patrick slowly faced the God of War.

"I'll think about it," he said, coolly.

Ares was about to respond, but Lyra cut in again.

"What did the letter say?"

"The position of the prophecy," said Apollo, simply.

"So...?"

"We haven't the least," said Apollo. "We'll keep trying, though!"

There was another silence, but for quite a different reason.

"Er...let us now, I suppose? We'll leave now?" said Patrick, with a glance at Zeus.

He nodded and they started walking back.

"Daughter. Wait," said Hephaestus.

They turned around.

"Hand me your weapon, please."

Lyra took it out and started walking forward, but Hephaestus held up his hand.

"No, throw it. I would be interested to see your skills."

She nodded and changed her grip. She held it above half a foot above her father's right shoulder blade. He nodded, and she jerked her shoulder in a smooth, fluid motion, no movement in any other axis, just a straight throw. The hilt unwound, but she it go. The tanto flew straight at the shoulder of the God of Smithing, but he just put up his massive, scarred hand and caught it between his index and middle finger. He examined it critically and said, "Quite impressive. Did Leo make it?"

"The idea was mine, but yes."

He turned it over, weighed it in his hand, and held it up to his eye for some time.

Then he asked, "Have you named it yet?"

Lyra started to speak, then she hesitated.

Then she said, "Aurea Opus."

Hephaestus grunted and said, "You need to work on your Latin."

Then he dug into his fingernail into one side of the knife, and simply dragged an infinitely thin layer of celestial steel off. Then he took similar layers off the edges. He put the weapon aside and rolled the layers with his fingers, then held it to his palm and flattened the whole lump out into the shape of tongs. Then he took off some hairs hair from his massive beard and threaded them through a hole in the tongs. Finally, he blew softly; lovingly on both the weapon and the talisman. Instantly; they seemed to harden even more than celestial steel or godly hair normally did; and they felt infused with some kind of energy. Satisfied, he sat back in his throne, and the talisman appeared around Lyra's neck, and the weapon reappeared in the sheath.

"A balanced throwing knife and a talisman," he said, "are not very much for taking down a being descended from Chaos itself. But I will repeat to you what I told Perseus three years earlier...you demigods do not know your own power." He remained silent for another long second, then began again. "Lyra, in front of the Olympian Council, I bequeath to you power over fire, heat, magma and lava. I hope you are aware that I have not given this power to any of my children in the last century. All I can say is: Be careful, my daughter. Be careful."

"Well, hey," said Apollo. "If we're doing power transferrals, I can join. Patrick, sonny, could you give me that bracelet slash armband and I'll give it to back to you tomorrow, yeah?"

Patrick nodded, with a slightly confused grin on his face, and began clicking off the gift, but the God sitting on the opposite side of Apollo forestalled him.

"You cannot be serious," said Artemis, incredously, "You do not truly believe he is worthy of the artifact, do you?"

"If I didn't, I would hardly be giving it to him, would I sis? Have you even looked at him?"

"Yes, I have. He," she said, putting quite a lot of emphasis on the word, "is nothing more than a common half-blood."

Apollo started to reply, but Patrick cut in.

"How insulting you make that sound, dearest mistress of maidens; yet two common half-bloods saved your πυγή two years ago," he said, with a voice dripping with scorn.

Artemis replied, drily, "Perseus Jackson has proved himself to be worthy of some of our greatest honours; you have not. I care not for your potential, and I will go so far as to ignore your disrespect right now, but I cannot let my brother give you an Artifact of the Golden Bow; for Zeus's sake, Apollo," she continued, "He could not hit the moon with an arrow if it was right in front of him."

"Archery is not the only thing we stand for, sister," said Apollo, angrily.

"And give people a chance to prove themselves before you sneer at them; I've only been to one official quest, and that was hardly much."

Artemis began to reply, but then quickly stopped and began again. "The boy went on a quest? When?"

"For the letter," said Patrick. "Yesterday."

"Ah. I was hunting the...I was hunting," said Artemis, simply. After a half second, she continued, "That still does not change much. I would like to call an official vote of the Olympian Council on this matter."

"As you wish, but it's not my problem when I get killed fighting a minion of a minion of a minion of a minion of an earthworm monster because I didn't have this artifact. What does it do, anyway?" he asked Apollo.

"Sorry, kid. That's classified...until you get it. You should probably leave. We'll have the debate and the vote, blah blah blah, get my metal playlist on please, Ipod?"

Hermes nodded quietly and they left for then.

Patrick was just about to enter sword training. He was stopped by Apollo appearing behind him and calling him over.

He handed Patrick a watch without any greeting. Patrick took it and looked at it. The watch face was pretty huge and round. It seemed to work well, and had one of those circles for the date. It was gold-plated, if not directly made of gold, and it did not seem to have any attaching mechanism.

By now, Patrick was pretty familiar with how things worked. He put the watch on his wrist. It stayed there. It practically fused to his flesh. He did not feel the signature cut, or the itch, when a watch is too tight on your wrist. Not even close. He did feel something, though. He felt the kind of feeling a formerly obese person feels when the scale shows 150. He felt the kind of feeling the Navy SEAL who killed Osama Bin Laden must have felt. He felt as if Half Life 3 had been released and he was the guy to tell the internet about it.

He felt like the most powerful being in the universe.

He breathed slowly out and said, "Who voted for?"

"Everyone except Ares. Hera and Athena abstained."

"Thanks."

"Use it well. Try it with your sword now. Maybe it's about time you started sparring for real. And just a little tip. You might want to take a moonlight walk to the lake tonight."

He winked and disappeared as Patrick turned around.

"So, you've got the ArtiSun, eh?" said Percy. "I knew a guy who got one. Could shoot a cherry pip at two miles."

"What happened to him?"

"He...fell in love with a Japanese cosplayer and left the camp."

"Well, I'll tell Lyra not to do any cosplaying. When do I start firing mah lazors from both swords at once, thus making a fifty-foot monster go 'AHHHH! MY EYES! I CAN'T SEE!'?"

"Uh...hopefully never, or Annabeth would kill herself from the cliches. You'll need someone to help you with talismans and artifacts...ooh, talking of Japanese cosplayers, have you met Seth?"

"Uh, no?"

"Oh, OK. Hey, Harry! HARRY!"

Harry shuddered violently, then took off the VR helmet.

"Mate, I told you not to do that. What d'you want?"

"Pat should probably meet Seth to learn to use his ArtiSun watch."

"Oh. Yeah. I'll go call him if he isn't too busy watching anime."

Moonlight, as any child knows, is nothing more than reflected sunlight. Therefore, it should make intuitive sense that a talisman that focuses the power of sunlight will work, albeit to an infinitely lesser degree, under moonlight. Especially on a full moon night. But of course, the main reason Patrick tried out his recently learned skills was to see their efficiency when the sun wasn't around.

Turned out it wasn't. Not with his skillset, anyway.

"You'll have to wait for an artifact from me to do that," said Artemis, who had appeared as suddenly as Gods tended to do these days. "May I?"  
Patrick nodded and sat down on the side of the lake.

Artemis sat down beside him.

"One of us was watching you on the quest. The person wishes to remain anonymous to you, but they told me about your actions on the quest."

Patrick said nothing.

"You defended Lyra Curtis' honour from the thugs," said Artemis.

"I saved my best friend and my girlfriend from being raped. And she saved herself first."

"Would you have done it for anyone else?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether I thought I would've been injured."

"You value your own life over another's?"

"Yes, and if you thought I didn't, you are not a very good judge of character."

There was a pause.

"Would Lyra have done the same for you in a similar situation?"

"No," said Patrick. "She almost certainly would not take two punches to kill a man."

There was another pause.

"What happens when you get angry?" asked Artemis.

Patrick looked at the God.

"Usually, I become fairly obsessed with killing another person, but unlike most people, most of my thought processes still work, and depending on how emotional I am I might or might not cry. Why?"

"You'll have to give me a break on that one, I'm afraid."

"OK."

Artemis looked across at the demigod prophesied to kill a being descended from Chaos itself.

"I generally judge people according to their acts, their choices, as opposed to their potential," she began.  
"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities," quoted Patrick, still staring across the lake.

Smiling slightly at the reference, Artemis continued, "I am impressed with your acts so far."

"Good to know."

"I was wrong with my initial assessment of you. As a peace offering, let me tell you this."

Patrick finally looked across at Artemis.

"Yes?"

She said, "Do you know why we implemented the Internet into the camp?"

"Military," said Patrick, again staring across the lake.

"Partly. But you should know there is something a lot more powerful than you'd think. Unity."

With that, she vanished.

"The trick is not to think of it as an outside force. Y'know? It's inside you. The talisman doesn't have any force. It can't. It's given you all of it."

"Accepted, Seth," said Patrick, through gritted teeth, as he tried to force his sword through foot-thick tungsten.

"Oh, hey. Nicely done...AHHHHH I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL," yelled Seth, as Patrick accidentally almost dropped them into a sinkhole.

"Well, if someone's holding a five-foot sword that burns through tungsten, it's really your fault for not standing further away," said Lyra. "So how'd I do?"

"Considering you just helped a guy slice through an element that melts at nearly three and a half thousand Celsius and I felt nothing from two feet away? I'd say that you did pretty damn well. Good practice, man."

"Thanks," said Patrick, pulling his swords apart and putting them to his back.

A siren sounded. Big, shrill, long sounds.

Seth didn't say anything. He simply took out a small baton from his shoulder. It collapsed out into a long, silver lance, with bands of purple colouring, with a wicked edge. He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled, hard. As a pegasus flying full-speed came from the stable, he said, "I'll pick up my quiver and bow. You guys will be picked up, ready your weapons, now." He jumped on the pegasus, said, "Battle stations, Florina!"

Lyra glanced at Patrick, smiled, and ran full-tilt for the firearms development center.

Grumbling, Patrick started jogging to the Hermes cabin, as a voice came over the entire camp, "This is a not a drill. An army of monsters are attacking. All attacking cabins follow the Cabin Leaders; all defending cabins prepare for healing. I repeat, this is not a drill."

"There you are, Patrick. Quick, put on that armour and follow me. Percy boy should be able to fuck them up, but we'll see," said Harry, completely seriously.

"I heard there's a drakon?" said Lloyd.

"Oh, fuck," said another cabin member.

Patrick smiled and said, "I wouldn't worry about that."

All kinds of monsters were trying to get into the camp. How they found it, nobody knew, and nobody cared right now.

Then they appeared to get into a formation. The constant barrages of arrows and Greek fire were holding them off...so far.

"Who's ordering them?" said Harry, urgently.

"I think I know," said Percy, pointing Riptide to the drakon in the distance.

"I've killed one of those, and I can do it again," said Clarisse.

"It's going to take a lot more than you, Clarisse," said Percy. "Do we have any wind power?"

"At your service, Jackson," said a random guy, "I'm a son of Notus. What do you need?"

"This is going to sound crazy, but can you blow these monsters away and pull the drakon in?"

"Uh...I...could...but are you sure?"

"Trust me, bro."

They did the necessary.

Percy walked up to the drakon, staying behind the camp boundaries.

"Long time no see," he said.

"You are not why we are here," said Echidna, who the drakon had instantly transformed into. "Give ussssss the boy."

"I don't think so," he said, going into a fighting stance with Riptide.

"I tried," said the mother of all monsters.

Then she slammed on the ground.

Patrick found himself surrounded by a completely white room on all sides. On the other side was Echidna. The camp, the monsters, the campers, had all disappeared.

"Still feeling very brave, dear?" she taunted.

Patrick didn't reply. He took out both of his weapons and held them ready, watching the human head and the snake-like body very carefully.

Echidna laughed.

"You think you can kill me, boy? I'm millions of years old!"

"Really? You don't look a day over a billion," said Patrick.

"You're no Dante, boy...you don't even name your weaponssss. You can't swing these ssswords without chopping off your own head!"

"Perhaps not," said Patrick, "but the guy behind you can."

Echidna whirled around and saw Percy standing behind her, Riptide at the ready.

"How...how did you...HOW DID YOU?" she screamed, sending a wave of force at Percy.

He rolled to the right to dodge it, bent his legs firmly against the wall, and launched himself at the monster, slashing at her body, and landed to her left.

"You think the Gods don't know how to get into a pocket dimension?" he spat at Echidna.

She screamed in anger and spat venom at Percy. He sidestepped it, holding Riptide out for cover, but some of it got onto him anyway. Seemingly ignoring it, he charged at her, and slashed off her tongue. He assumed a position against the wall, panting, holding his left shoulder to the wall, where the acid had hit it.

"You cannot kill me, boy! You are a child! I am the mother of all monsters!" she shrieked, charging at Percy. He blocked the attacks and counterattacked, but she spat even more acid, and advanced over Percy on the floor.

"You...you have fought bravely," she said, calming down, now that the threat was over. "But-"

Percy jumped up and stuck his sword through one eye.

She shrieked in pain again and blindly swatted at Percy.

He rolled and sidestepped, trying to get a hit in, but she was in a frenzy.

Percy got slammed against the wall and didn't get up.

"And now!" Echidna screamed, but she was interrupted.

"For the record, cunt, I call it Dawnbreaker," said Patrick, coldly, and, grunting, pushed a five-foot Scottish Claymore straight through her neck and into her brain.

The dimension began to dissolve. Echidna screamed and turned around. Patrick extracted Dawnbreaker with some effort.

ADHD and adrenaline kicked in.

In slow motion, Patrick saw the events around him. He had been pulled outside the camp, and the campers had seemingly followed Percy to his rescue. There was battling on all sides, but the campers were mostly owning, and slaughtering monsters, but there were an army of them, and only so many campers.

He had his own problems. Percy was lying on the ground, seemingly unconscious for the time being. He had just stabbed Echidna's brain with a five-foot sword, and it hadn't seemed to have done much. But he was Patrick Brooks, prophesied to defeat a monster beyond all Titans, beyond all Gods, and this puny monster would never, ever, defeat him.

There was a deathly serious look on his face as he split his sword into two, this time easily, fluidly, as if he had been doing it his entire life. As they blurred and formed two, he held them, crossed, in a defensive position. Etched just outside the hilt of the cutlass, which he held in his left hand, in golden letters, was the word "Dawn." Etched just outside the hilt of his katzbalger, which he held in his right hand, was the word "Breaker."

The campers realised what was going on. They tried to rush in to help him. Or Percy. Maybe both. But Echidna screamed and splashed around and seemed to raise a forcefield around them, and they failed to get in. She advanced on Percy. Some of the campers fired arrows at her. Patrick thought Harry might be one of them. But it was useless, because she just shrugged them off. Patrick tightened his stance and dug his heels into the ground and prepared to fight the first monster of his life.

There was an odd sound. At first, there was a loud sound like a whip-crack, which immediately merged with another such sound; but they intermingled with a soft _thwip_ sound that came right after the cracks. For the smallest of split seconds, Patrick could see the astonishment in Echidna's eyes, which were looking down at her chest, and her rage, but she appeared to be completely incapacitated.

There was another similar sound less than a moment after; and it almost drowned the sound of Echidna's head blowing apart in thousands of pieces.

Patrick looked behind him. Lyra was holding up the gun. She was a good twenty or twenty-five feet behind him. As far as he could see, she had used the Mozambique Drill technique. She had an eye on the scope, but she was relaxing now that Echidna was back to where she'd come from.

The army was retreating. He could see that the campers were furious, and they were sons and daughters of physical Gods that controlled the elements of the Earth. He saw Annabeth violently gut some kind of bear monster or other. He saw Clarisse decapitate another snake-thing. Percy, who seemed to be up by now, called a groggy "Halt!". To Patrick's satisfaction, they did.

If he was going to be in a battle with a group of teenagers as his allies, it was a very good thing to know that they were very highly trained teenagers. With the obvious exception of him and Lyra, for then.

Patrick went over to Lyra.

"Nice shooting. Attached a suppressor after all, did you?"

"Yep. They haven't got around to the subsonic ammo yet, otherwise it'd be a lot quieter."

"Thanks for saving my ass."

"Eh, thanks for giving me the target practice."

They fistbumped and then Patrick turned around and jogged to Percy and Annabeth.

"Hey, man. You okay?"

"I...think so. How...how long was I out?"

"Thirty seconds, I counted," said Annabeth. "Hopefully your concussion won't be too bad, but we need to get you over to the medical tent, ASAP."

"Hey, thanks for saving my ass," said Patrick.

Percy weakly grinned. "No big deal. Keep yourself safe. Nice fighting yourself."

Patrick watched as they limped away. Lyra arrived at his side.

"Can I see that gun?" asked Patrick.

"Yeah, gimme a sec if you don't mind."

Lyra carefully ejected the magazine and put it one of her pockets, then ejected the chambered round.

"Be careful. You know the rules, right?"

"Always act like a gun is loaded, especially when it's unloaded; don't point it at anything you aren't willing to destroy, keep the safety on and your finger off the trigger until your sights are on the target, always know what's your target and what's behind it."

"Yep. I wouldn't have taken the shot if Echidna wasn't a tall son of a bitch. I aimed high up in the chest. Those bullets probably landed somewhere over there," she said, pointing. "I should recover them and do some careful analysis. The shells, too."

"Are they re-usable?"

"The bullets are, but not the shells, so you can't fire it again."

Patrick put his eye to the scope and aimed carefully at a tree.

"Keep your fingers off the trigger. If you shoot you'll blow your arm off," said Lyra. "You like the arm cast?"

"Damn. What is it, non-newtonian fluid?" said Patrick, as Lyra pulled what appeared to be skin off her right arm, which had a really weird texture as it was held out. Gently, Lyra folded it, and put it in her pocket.

"Yep. Very thin, so I can do exactly that."

Harry came over, slinging his bow over his arm.

"Hey, mate. You all right?"

"Yep, not sure about Percy though. Say, can you tell me what the hell she pulled me into? What was that?"

"Well, it was...you know we can manipulate the Mist, right? Good, so it's basically that on steroids. Like, what we were seeing was a shadow or some shit of you and that bitch and Percy, right over those monsters' bloody arse." He paused. "Sorry, I'm a bit strung up. Been with Percy for about a year now. Hope he's OK. Wonder how they found us."

"Hey! Patrick Brooks?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Hey, they want you and Lyra to come to the medical tent. Oh hey, Harry, wotcher? You should probably come too."

"Alright, but could you do me a huge favour? Just tell Chris- Chris from Hephaestus camp- to check out the bullets and the shells here, would you?"

"Got it."

"Thanks."


	6. Chapter 5: A Battle

**Chapter 5**

"**A Battle"**

"_We walk alone_

_In the unknown_

_We live to win another victory_

_We are the young dying sons_

_We live to change the face of history_

_Don't be afraid_

_It's the price we pay_

_The only easy day was yesterday_

_So hear our voice_

_We have a choice_

_It's time to face it_

_We are one, We are one, we will stand together_

_Number one, number one, the chosen ones_

_We are one, we are one, we will fight forever_

_We are one and we won't tire_

_We are the bold_

_United souls_

_We live to win another victory_

_Our sacred scars_

_Show who we are_

_And tell the stories of our memories_

_Don't be afraid_

_It's the price we pay_

_The only easy day was yesterday_

_So hear our voice_

_We have a choice_

_It's time to face it..."_

_We Are One- 12 Stones_

"So that's the plan, eh?"

"I'm afraid it is, Brooks. Until we know something, we can't risk attacking, not if beings as powerful as Echidna are attacking. And now they know of our secret weapon- firearms. Not that I'm judging," added Chiron, hurriedly, "I would have done exactly the same in your situation."

"Echidna felt wrong. I...I had seen her before. She was strong as hell, back then, but...somehow, she's even stronger now. There's no way she could've survived a five-foot claymore to the brain back then," said Percy.

"Are you sure, Perce? As I recall, you were twelve back then," said Annabeth.

Percy shook his head. "C'mon, Annabeth, you've read enough books to know that you _never_ discount the hero's gut feeling."

"So you think that all the monsters are getting stronger?" asked Patrick.

"We better start giving out those pistols of yours, eh Lyra?"

"That's impossible. You'd have to fit the NNF-UL cast to each camper individually- and not only do we not have the materials to create enough, it takes ages and ages. Non-Newtonian Fluid- Ultra Light," she explained, as Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow. "But," she continued, "and I probably shouldn't be telling you this- we're working on a machine-gun, to be placed on the outskirts on the camp, so that attacks like that will fail easily."

"That would help a load," said Percy.

"You feeling alright now?"

"Yeah, the doctors say I should rest just a bit and watch out for future head injuries. No biggie. Thanks for saving my arse, Patrick."

"You kidding? You hadn't entered, I would be a steaming pile of...uh, what's organic matter called after it dissolves in acid?"

"Probably 'acid-dissolved organic matter'", said Lyra, dryly.

"Anyway, that's it for today. Keep training, keep practicing, and always keep your head," said Chiron.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Technical Usage 101 course, otherwise known as Usage of Military-issued personal laptops and smartphones, Intermediate level. Allow me to reiterate that this course is for people who know all the basics. The Technical Usage 100, or Basics level, is in that room, if anyone's confused; and if any of you are master-level, which we define as being able to code a basic game in your programming language of choice, we highly suggest you take the Technical Usage 102, or Masters level, for which the timing will be given in due course. Did everyone get that, please?"

The people in the classroom nodded. There was a murmur through the class, as everyone was pretty excited about it.

"Good. A little test for your knowledge of computer skills will now follow. Please don't be afraid to go to the basics class if you need to. Now, open up your laptops, boot them, plug in your USB mice in the drawers. Click on the icon labelled " ", then force shut down the nonresponsive program. Did you get all of that? Start...now!"

Patrick did it in about ten seconds. The UI for that was almost exactly the same, which suited him just fine. As far as he could see, everyone in the room was able to do it, and fairly easily- even then, some assistants were wandering around the room, checking on the people.

"Good. Please, take out your smartphones and you shall now learn how to connect your laptop with them, which will let you make use of many of the more useful programs in a tactical situation..."

"So, you're taking Masters, right Ly?"

"Eh, I'm honestly not sure. I can do some minor programming, but I can't really program a game in Python or Java yet..."

"You could ask someone for help, y'know...sup, Harry?"

"Yeah, Pat. Another council of the Gods. Percy and Annabeth're already there. It might have something to do with you killing Echidna."

"Short way or long way?"

"Got no idea what you're talking about, Pat."

He blinked and found himself on Olympus already.

"Not cool, Harry," he said, before trudging off to the council. As mentioned, Percy and Annabeth were already there.

"Ah, daughter. I would congratulate you for killing Echidna herself, had she not already risen from Tartarus, and now many times more powerful."

"...That is not good. I thought monsters stayed there for decades or centuries?" asked Patrick.

"Normally, yes. This is not normal. The same being in the prophecy must have sped up the process. And...yes, I know to you, she did not seem to be very powerful. But consider this, Patrick, and Curtis. Perseus Jackson is- and I can say this in front of the council with no fear of rebuttal- easily the best warrior we have as of this moment. And firearms...surely, surely you know the massive difference between an arrow and a bullet- and if that bullet is nigh indestructible, it is incredibly powerful- and it still took three shots to destroy her. Do not underestimate her at all. And in her current state...the Gods may need to intervene," said Athena, ominously.

"So how am I supposed to compete with this? And this is a serious question. This is fucking stupid. You throw out words about Gods and monsters and powerful, and you're sitting here and expecting me to go by with the same training every demigod gets. Face it, I'm not normal. I'm pretty fucking unique if the prophecy states that I'm going to defeat that...that being, who you claim is so powerful when most of us can't comprehend the state of _being_ of how powerful you are. You have a big-ass debate before giving me a fucking WATCH. Shit, or get off the pot. Give me your trust, or don't. I'm done with your politics."

There was a long pause.

"Si vis pacem, para bellum. I had told you this would happen, Zeus. But it matters not. Trust me for just five more minutes, Patrick. Here. See for yourself."

Patrick curtly nodded as Athena teleported him away.

He appeared to be in some kind of desert. It was blindingly hot, but he didn't really feel it that much. There was a lot of sand, and that was almost all. There was a dry, hot wind blowing, and the sand was flying, but it wasn't quite a sandstorm yet.

"What is this place?"

"Not real. Not imaginary."

"Good enough for me. Why did you bring me here?'

"Do you see that little pyramid in the distance?"

She passed him over a small pair of binoculars. He put it to his eyes. The range-finder on the binoculars said a little "15 miles" in the top right. It looked basically like what he imagined a pyramid would look like. Triangular, very big, made of stone in a desert.

"Yes. What about it?"

"I want you to try to use your powers to destroy it. From this distance."

"...OK. I'll try."

"Patrick." She glanced around reflexively, then smiled slightly. "Don't get half-assed on me."

Patrick grinned back, nodded, then unsheathed Dawn and Breaker, and combined them. He glanced at his golden watch, which was almost impossible to even look at in the sun beating down on him- yet, instead of needing to avert his eyes, he simply saw through the brightness. He aimed his sword upwards, and just waited, and relaxed his arm. He waited for the angle of the light reflected off Dawnbreaker to line up with the pyramid as well as he could, and once he was satisfied, he started focusing as much of his energy as he could. With a grunt of force, he called down the force of the sun, and then flopped down, utterly exhausted. He waited about ten seconds to catch his breath, then he split his sword again and put them back in their scabbards. He accepted the binoculars from Athena and looked closely at the pyramid.

It was almost completely untouched. The top of it seemed to be destroyed a little, but it was hard to make it out well. The sand near it was disturbed, but nothing much apart from that.

"Well, that's not good."

"Not that bad for a beginner. Now, it's my turn, just as a comparison. You might want to wear these glasses, unless you're interested in blinding yourself."

"Alright."

Athena rose up to her full height. She held her arms out, and put them, outstretched, about half a foot of distance between them. She aimed as carefully as she could, and fired what looked to Patrick like a pure beam of energy, which sent a similar force through the air it went through, blowing around the sand near its path like a hurricane. When it hit the pyramid, there was a small explosion, with a dust cloud that was visible with the naked eye. Even so, Patrick took the binoculars to check. The pyramid was almost completely destroyed now. Then it suddenly regenerated.

"Now, Patrick...allow us to combine our powers, if you've caught your breath?"

Patrick nodded. With Athena's hand having a firm grip on his shoulder, he did it all over again, and combined his and the Goddess of Wisdom's power for a blast at a pyramid fifteen miles away.

The world exploded around him.

When he had recovered from the blast and regained his bearings, he was still almost blinded by the sandstorm that was going on.

Athena extended a hand to pick him up and waved her hand. The sandstorm immediately slowed down a little.

"Do you see, Patrick? Your own powers...while they are impressive even at this stage, they will grow far stronger as you train. But your main strength...you act like a catalyst. You can increase the power of anyone or anything by several hundred times. And like the usual problems with great power; it is almost impossible to control. We have done it in this place, and it has wreaked havoc, and if such power was to be used in, say, the camp, you would take out most of New York, easily. This is the trademark of all demigods like you."

Patrick said nothing.

"Artemis knew this, but she did not know you. You cannot blame her for what happened earlier. Just...as a warning."

Then they were back in the council for a fleeting moment, and back in the desert again.

"I need to tell you one more thing, Patrick. Trust Percy. You have never seen him near a large body of water. I will tell you this much. Just over a year ago, he was able to take on titans and monsters alike while under the influence of the River Styx. Now...Patrick, if Percy Jackson was near an ocean, sea, or river, he could fight Typhon himself for at least ten minutes and come out unscathed. His power is more than you could imagine from a demigod. And so is yours. Hephaestus was right...you children never unlock your true potential. Perhaps we finally have an exception."

They were back in the council now. Athena was on her throne.

"I have shown you the demonstration, Patrick. Do you have any questions?"

Patrick started to speak, then stopped.

"No. But I have a request."

"Yes?"

"Don't keep anything from me. Nothing. In a war such as this, you have secrets, certainly. But tell me them. Like this one"

Zeus said, "We cannot officially grant the request. Unofficially...you will be told as much as we can. We must convene now. You may go."

They teleported back to camp. On the way to the Hermes cabin, Harry said, "Holy shit mate, I don't remember anyone swearing at the Gods that hard since Athena told Clarisse she had no concept of tactics and simply charged her dumb arse at the opponent."

"Dude, I sang Wonderwall at a posh party. After that, I could call Hera a cunt in front of Zeus without any problems."

"Hah! Fair point."

They went into the camp. Patrick plugged in his backup USB into his laptop and fiddled with a couple files, sent a couple emails, the usual. It was their free two hours of the day, so he had the time to himself. Harry was taking care of his weapons, rubbing one of his arrows on his tomahawk handle to do something or the other.

"Say, Harry, mind if I ask you a bit of a personal question?"

"Shoot, bro."

"You've only been here for like, three years, right? How'd you become camp leader so fast?"

"Damn, man, finally. I'd been waiting for you to ask me that for ages. Eh...long story short? I went with Percy on my first real quest, when I was 14. I stirred up some major shit, saved his arse, Tyson's arse, the load."

"Tyson...ah right, the Cyclops. I keep mixing it up with Typhon."

"Believe me mate, one's a huge monster of mass destruction and the other's locked up in Tartarus. You do NOT want to hurt Percy in front of Tyson."

"What was the quest?"

"...Sorry, mate. That's private. But I can guarantee you it's got nothing to do with this."

"OK."

Patrick finished up his stuff, then figured he'd hang out at the lake. He shot Lyra an IM, then got up.

"Going to the lake? Ah, I need to talk to someone at the armory, anyway. These arrows have their tips wrong."

They went out of their camp, but after taking about three steps, they were surrounded by about seven kids. They looked like Ares kids mostly, but a couple were Hermes kids who he knew, at least by face, if not name. They were at least fourteen, but the leader looked to be at least sixteen, if not older.

"Is there a problem here?" asked Patrick.

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you guys are doing?" said Harry.

"Harry, this ain't your problem. We just want to have a little talk with Patrick."

"You can have your bloody little talk while I'm here."

"No need to get pissed, darlings. We just wanted to tell you one thing- you don't seem to have joined our gang yet. Entrance fee is half a drachma, but you're late, so it'll be one for you."

"Really, now? And what happens if I refuse to join your little gang?"

"Well, you'll be making some pretty powerful enemies. I wouldn't advi-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Patrick got up to the face of the leader.

"Where I'm from, gangs mean something. Where I'm from, you get shot at for doing this shit. Where I am, we take this thing seriously, you arrogant, pussy little son of a bitch. Now get out. Now. Before you get your ass hurt trying to be a gangster, you pathetic little _asshole_."

The leader didn't flinch.

"Well, well, well. You know, out here, in civilised society, we try not to use that kind of language. Now let me ask you this: Are you really trying to threaten me when we're seven to two?"

"I count none to two. Pussies don't count."

"Count this as your final warning. Pay up, or you're going to make some enemies. You might be a little spirited new guy, but you're still new. Don't be an idiot."

Patrick started laughing.

"OK, you guys have no idea how this works, do you? Let me tell you exactly how this will work. You get out of here, right now, and be thankful to your God that I'm not going to report this, because kids playing around aren't worth my time. You do that, and we'll be good. You continue getting your stupid excuse for a face in mine, and sparks will fly. And let me tell you something else. I've got a girlfriend- ooh, yeah, I do, and you might want to look that little word up in the dictionary- and it works something like this. Every single cell that I hurt punching you miserable bastards in the face, every one of them, Lyra will make you beg for mercy exactly that many times. I'll keep count, I promise you."

The "gang" was stunned into silence for just a second, then the leader started laughing.

"That's priceless, newbie! You want to get a girl you keep you bodyguard? Aw man, that's hilarious! What're you paying her with, tampons?"

"Ask her for yourself. She's right behind you."

In shock, the leader turned around, to see Lyra, and one other, rather nerdy-looking girl, with glasses, who was grinning at the proceedings and standing beside her.

"Hey, Jessica, what was that you were telling me about the Meleager rule again?" she said, matter-of-factly.

At this, the leader of the group grew a little pale and said, "Now look here, there's no need for that-"

Lyra interrupted him. "Now, as per my understanding, though it hasn't been invoked in decades, it's still very much on the books and I can invoke it anytime I like. It's up to you whether to accept or not."

Harry whispered something into Patrick's ears. He grinned, and beckoned Lyra over, and they had a short discussion, and waited for the gang to finish their much larger one.

"You should probably hurry up, unless you want us to count it as a denied answer, in which case my single order I'm allowed to give you is..."

"Hey, shut it, lady. We accept. Seven on two."

"Sorry, kids. Seven on three. Still under half your number, falls under the rulebook," said Harry. "I'll write up the relevant paperwork to Zeus, I promise. Now scram. And for the record, I'm disappointed in you two, Jones and Anthony."

Muttering and grumbling, the gang ran off, probably to beg Clarisse to get them out of this.

"Meleager rule, eh?" asked Patrick.

"Yep. You're allowed to challenge any army- of similar skill, or in our case, age- in unarmed combat if your numbers are less than half of theirs. If they refuse, the implication is they admit they're inferior, and you're allowed to give any order you wish to them," said Lyra.

"Not bad. Now...I don't have to tell you this." He swung around to Harry. "But this is pretty damn serious, so I'm going to ask you, Harry. I need a realistic estimate of your skills."

Harry shrugged. He said, "When I was a kid, I handled myself on the streets of London, but then that wasn't a place where we were trying to kill each other, or anything. I reckon I should be able to handle two of them, since it's separate battles. Now, I suggest-"

"Yeah, sorry, just a sec. Separate battles?"

"Well, yeah, you're not supposed to be able to fight two guys at once."

Lyra glared at him, and said, with a straight face, "You underestimate my power." Patrick cracked up.

"No, but seriously," Patrick said, when he stopped laughing, "I'm pretty damn sure we can. I think we can start a strategy...those assholes really, really need to be put in their place."

"Are you ready, Patrick? Harry? Good. Hit it."

Patrick nodded and pressed enter on the computer.

Lyra faced Patrick. They nodded, and waited. They waited for over thirty-five seconds. Patrick started playing air guitar to the music midway through.

"_On a cold winter morning_

_In the time before the light_

_In flames eternal reign we ride towards the fight_

_When the darkness has fallen down and the times are tough all right_

_The sound of evil laughter falls around the world tonight"_

The instant the lyrics started, Patrick sprang, straight from playing air power metal to attempting to murder his girlfriend. Lyra parried the strikes easily, and aimed a quick jab at Patrick's solar plexus, but Patrick sucked in his stomach and brushed his chest forward; Lyra's jab was arrested due to lack of momentum.

"_Fighting hard, fighting on for the steel_

_Through the wastelands evermore_

_The scattered souls will feel the hell_

_Bodies wasted on the shore_

_On the blackest plains in Hell's domain_

_We watch them as we go_

_Through the fire and pain and once again we know!"_

But Lyra pushed him away with her left shoulder, and successfully landed a punch to his stomach, which Patrick barely managed to prevent from making him lose the fight that moment itself.

"_So now we fly ever free_

_We're free before the thunderstorm_

_On towards the wilderness our quest carries on_

_Far beyond the sundown_

_Far beyond the moonlight_

_Deep inside our heart and all our souls!"_

Patrick counter-attacked, grabbing an errant elbow of Lyra's and forcing it upwards, then lowering his head and attempting to do a improvised football-tackle. Lyra, however, knew this tactic only too well, and shifted her own weight forward and pushed hard, separating the two again.

"_So far away we wait for the day_

_For the lives all so wasted and gone_

_We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days_

_Through the fire and the flames we carry on"_

As the guitar solo started, Patrick and Lyra jumped at each other, and began sparring. To most outside observers, it would look like twenty seconds of catfighting. To an anime fan, it would look like a fight straight out of Dragon Ball Z. To Harry, it was the reality: cold, hard, punches, elbows, blocks, parries, various body parts from the waist up going everywhere, but eventually, Lyra got an elbow in, and followed it out with punches, taking Patrick "out". She looked at Harry, and he nodded, and joined in.

"I'll go easy on you," said Lyra, before the lyrics started again.

"_As the red day's dawning_

_And the lightning cracks the sky_

_They raise their hands to the heavens above_

_With resentment in their eyes"_

Harry, too, got into the action, with swinging, massive, right and left hooks, that even to the outside observer would appear to be foolishness- but with a short body, and normal-sized arms, it had a very good advantage of forcing Lyra to keep ducking, thus setting her up for any potential attacks.

"_Running back through the mid morning light_

_There's a burning in my heart_

_We're banished from the time in the fallen land_

_To the land beyond the stars_

_In your blackest dreams see to believe_

_Our destiny is time_

_And endlessly_

_We'll all be free tonight!"_

Lyra countered, taking advantage of just a half-second lapse in Harry's blows, rising with an explosive headbutt that would've ripped his head off his body if it wasn't training and if Harry hadn't barely managed to dodge. Harry tried to use the same tactic again, but this time Lyra was in a better position, and she knocked away Harry's blows.

"_And on the wings of a dream_

_So far beyond reality_

_All alone in desperation, now the time is gone_

_Lost inside you'll never find_

_Lost within my own mind_

_Day after day this misery must go on!"_

Lyra made an intentional mistake, using a grappling move that would've ended in a legsweep- but

instead of grabbing Harry's arm near the shoulder, she grabbed his elbow. Harry realised it, and abused his leverage to reverse the hold- now having Lyra in a complete armlock from the back.

"_So far away we wait for the day_

_For the lives all so wasted and gone_

_We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days_

_Through the fire and the flames we carry on"_

_Through the Fire and Flames - Dragonforce_

Lyra shifted her weight expertly, and just as the guitar solo began, she slipped out of the hold by twisted her arm and whole body, and began pummeling Harry's body with quick punches, taking him out, too. Exhausted from three and a half minutes of fighting, they lied down on the floor of the armory, and waited for the song to finish before saying anything.

"We didn't even get to the great solo part," said Patrick.

Lyra raised an eyebrow and said, "We might have if Harry lasted a little longer. He couldn't even fight as long as you."

"Ah well, I'm sure there are plenty of things I can outlast Patrick at...especially where the fairer sex is involved," said Harry.

"But apparently, not at hand-to-hand combat, even when she goes easy on you. Tch, tch, Harry!"

"Yeah, talking of. What'd I do wrong? How'd you get out of the armlock so easily?"

"Bit hard to explain, but basically, your right hand's holding my forearm in place, right? Your other hand was just strengthening it- you needed to push me forward, or even pull to your left, with it. That way I couldn't have worked up the necessary momentum to break out. I'd probably have found some way, but hey. Good to see that you saw through my 'mistake'," she said.

"Alright, good to know...and out of interest. What'd Pat do wrong?"

"Nothing."

"But...oh. I see."

"We'll practice again tomorrow, with emphasis on our strategy. Lyra, tell your guy in the clothing stores to hurry it up. Harry, it's the day after tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Ares will be officiating, though, and y'know he can be a bitch."

"Well, yeah, but I think he'll be fair enough. You just don't do anything stupid, Lyra and I will be able to handle ourselves."

"Hey, man, I'll be fine."

It was the day of the battle. Everyone in the camp knew about it. Most of them had picked sides. Patrick and Lyra were quite encouraged by the fact that most people had picked their sides. The neutral people were mostly the younger ones, who had probably been bullied and were scared of them, and quite understandably thought that seven on three was an easy win for the seven. There were also a couple of camp vets, who really couldn't give a fuck about the whole thing, but in general, most of the camp thought that the Ares "gang" were a bunch of obnoxious teenage pricks and were hoping for Patrick and co. to at least put up a good fight. Clarisse, however, was taking it very seriously. She walked into the Armory, where they were resting before the fight, having bananas to put a few calories into the system, some final decision making, the usual.

"Sorry, Clarisse, we're not going to agree to call it off," said Patrick.

"I wasn't going to ask you to," said Clarisse. "Harry? Harry Morgan?"

"I'm not going to agree to that either, mate," said Harry.

Clarisse said, "Look, I'm not here to call it off. I'm here to tell you to make sure you kick their asses, because I'm not having wanna-be gangstas in my group. But I'm also here to tell you that this is a serious issue. We're in the middle of a war, here. Shit happens, but I don't want the camp to split apart."

"I know what you're talking about, but look around you. Literally two people support those idiots, and those kids were probably bullied by them to. Plus, they always had the option to disagree."

"Good luck. You might need it."

"Unlikely."

It was almost 4 PM. The trio had not entered the Ares cabin yet, which had been specially modified for the match. The "gang" of seven were there, though.

There were plenty of spectators. Practically the entire camp had squeezed into the seats. There was a steel cage, similar to the ones in MMA matches, a circular one, with a diameter of approximately ten meters. There was another huge circle around it, which was the seats, and the ceiling had been magically made taller, so there was plenty of space to sit. It helped that the Ares cabin was circular anyway, in honour of the Colosseum.

There was plenty of chattering going on, but it stopped when Ares cleared his throat, magically made his voice louder, and began to speak.

"People, I don't have to tell anyone why you're all here. We have a match, under the Meleager rule, which states that any army or group which numbers less than half of the other army or group may challenge them to a series of single combat matches, assuming same approximate age and skill level-to which I say, you kids are all the same. I consider MMA to be today's wrestling, so, see the steel cage! No weapons, no magical attacks, or artifacts allowed. Don't worry, kiddos. This isn't normal, but everyone involved has agreed, and Apollo's also here, to offer a one-time chance to heal any and all injuries anyone sustains from today's battle. On a serious note, killing your opponent is a serious no-no - not that any of you kids could, but if you ever want to do this again. Any move that could cause death will be immediately stopped and is grounds for disqualification of anyone. Apart from that, though...go wild. And..." he checked his watch, and his face fell a little, "If those three whatstheirnames don't show up soon, then I'm going to have to give this win to those other seven whatstheirfaces. Kids nowadays can't even show up to being beaten up-"

At that moment, he was interrupted by a massive, earth-shattering sound of glass being broken at the entrance of the camp.

Then, as rock music began to play, Patrick, Harry and Lyra entered, wearing jet black trench coats, and they waited as the music continued to play, as Patrick held up his golden watch, which the music was obviously issuing from.

"_STEP UP!_

_Cause you're the next one in line for the kill_

_You don't believe it but I'm betting_

_THAT YOU WILL_

_Step up_

_I'll let you live a little bit with the pain that I bring_

_You know it's only the beginning_

_I'm breaking the limit inside you_

_Start begging someone to hide you_

_I'm breaking the limit inside you_

_Start begging someone to hide you_

_I'm breaking the limit inside_

_Don't run away, bring it on_

_STRAIGHT TO ME"_

_Glass Shatters - Disturbed_

As the rock music continued after the vocals and faded away, Patrick caught a mic thrown by a grinning guy from the Apollo camp, and said, "Sorry for being late, homies. An entrance like this takes some preparing, y'know? We might not be Stone Cold Steve Austin, but I can guarantee that we're going to be the toughest, meanest, SOBs in this entire camp to those seven punks."

He put the mic in one of his pockets and Harry took off his trench coat, to reveal a tight plain black T-shirt and jeans. Then Lyra and Patrick did the same, to reveal matching clothing.

Harry signalled to Ares that he was going in first. He nodded, cracked his knuckles, and one door of the cage opened.

"Two consecutive single combat matches, Mr. Morgan. You're ready?" called the leader, from outside.

"Bring it, cads," said Harry.

The seven kids of the team had a brief huddle, and then one of the Hermes kids, Jones, entered the cage. Patrick took out his mic and started speaking again.

"And in this corner, we have. Standing tall at six feet one inch, and weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds, Harry Morgan!"

The leader of the other team scowled, but didn't respond, because to do so would be to admit defeat.

Ares said, "You win a match when I say you're unable to battle, when I say your opponent has you in a position where you have to lose, or you give up. Consecutive matches for whoever wins, until one time is wiped out or you faint, then you choose who comes in next. No weapons, no magic, no potentially lethal moves. Got it?"

They nodded.

"FIGHT FOR MELEAGER!"

Harry ran explosively out of his corner. Just explosively, covering the five metre distance between him and the Jones guy in about a second, and slammed a football-tackle into him. There was no way he could respond, he was barely ready, and he didn't know anything about him anyway. He had almost certainly trained for this match, but he screamed incoherently as Harry pinned him down and started giving him blows to the ribs.

"HALT!"

Harry halted and got up.

"You, big guy, you win the first round. And you, for the sake of Zeus, learn to fight or you'll be screwed in a battle. Next up!"  
Next up was Anthony. He was much bigger than the other guy, and he looked like he had fought at least a couple guys, but it couldn't have been anything much. He was wary, and moved quickly as soon as the match started. This was going to be tough for Harry.

They moved in slowly to each other. Harry aimed some jabs, but Anthony actually managed to block them decently, and aimed a few jabs of his own. Harry parried them easily, then quickly shot a jab into Anthony's stomach, and grabbed him in a front facelock. He struggled, and shot a big right into Harry's stomach, forcing him to let go, and immediately tried to capitalise, but made the classic mistake of punching someone hard in the jaw. Sure, Harry's mouth region hurt like hell, but dollars to doughnuts, Anthony's fist had been shattered. Simultaneously, Harry bent over and spat blood and a tooth in his palm, and Anthony stared in disbelief and cradled his right wrist.

Harry stood up straight and aimed a low, hard, right into Anthony's solar plexus, then grabbed his wrist and twisted it slightly, not hard enough to hurt any more than it already was, and just waited. The terror on Anthony's face was obvious from anyone who was sitting anywhere near. Frantically, he held out his left hand and tapped out on his own left thigh.

"HALT!"

Harry let go, wiped his face, and stood back to let Anthony catch his breath.

"Alright, Morgan, you win again. Want to continue with that smashed up face of yours?" said Ares.

"Eh, y'know what? Can't take all the fun for myself, now can I? Lyra, your turn!"

The leader smirked and called out, "One down, two to go!"

Apollo stepped in, healed up both of them to more or less perfect shape, and then an Ares guy stepped in. He was a big guy, six feet easily, and steam was practically coming out his ears.

Patrick threw over to the mic to Harry. As Lyra entered, slowly and calmly, Harry started speaking into the mic.

"And on chav-beating duty today for, I'd wager ten seconds per, standing tall at five feet nine inches, weighing in at a hundred forty pounds- that's sixty-three and a half kilos for my fellow Pommies out there, we have our Lady of War, Lyra Curtis!"

She just stood there. Hands in her pockets, staring at her opponent coolly. If chewing gum was allowed, she would probably be chewing it.

"FIGHT FOR MELEAGER!"

She didn't change her stance at all. Hands in her pockets, staring down the guy who was way bigger than her. He advanced slowly on her, hands up to defend, ready for any moves. She didn't react at all. He was within three feet of her now.

"What's the matter, bitch? Tampon's stuck?"

Lyra didn't react. She continued staring, with the ghost of a smirk on her face, blinking normally every once in a while, hands in her pocket.

Suddenly, the guy unleashed a massive right, straight to her face. It hit Lyra in the face, but barely a microsecond earlier she had begun snapping her neck back. She took the entire force the flow, and continued snapping her neck back until it was practically at a right angle with her body, and then continued the momentum and bent back until she was practically doing a Matrix, and her quite short hair was practically touching the ground.

Then in one fluid motion she bent back up, snapped her neck back, took her hands gently out of her pockets and, having taken a right hook straight to the face with no apparent damage, said, "Pathetic."

The guy was terrified and angry. He said, "Who you calling pathetic? Huh? Huh?"

Lyra kept her hands by her sides, continued staring at him, and didn't respond.

The guy swung another massive right.

Lyra turned her head barely three inches to the right and it might as well have been three feet, because the guy missed completely.

He swung another punch.

Lyra dodged.

He screamed something incoherent and unleashed a flurry of punches.

Lyra, without moving her arms from her sides, dodged them all, or positioned them to graze an ear or a shoulder.

Gently, very gently, though, she was still having to move back.

The guy screamed again and began fighting seriously now. Punches, feints, elbows, a knee or two.

Lyra finally moved her arms and parried them all. She began to laugh. It was an intensely scary laugh. When you're way over six feet, and punched someone half a foot shorter than you, and she hasn't reacted, and then she's dodged every single one of your blows, and is laughing...it's intensely scary. Her laugh began to take on an almost maniacal feel.

But she was almost at the edge of the steel cage now.

The guy saw that, through his stupidity and rage. He redoubled his efforts. Lyra effortlessly dodged them. Her back was an inch away from the cage.

Then, in a random one of the guy's right punch, her right arm shot up, grabbed the guy by the shoulder, and she used the momentum of the punch to turn him completely around. He was facing completely away from her.

Then she grabbed his arms under her, and swung him around and his face and chest slammed against the steel cage, really hard. There was an audible gasp from the crowd.

Then she held him in a straight up rear naked choke. No quarters, no nothing, a technically nigh flawless choke, that would have him unconscious in six seconds.

"HALT!"

There was a grin extending from ear to ear of Ares, as he said, "Miss Curtis wins. Next up!"

Lyra dropped the hold and said, "No."

Ares' face dropped. "Huh? You're tagging out?"

"No. This is too boring. Two on one, please?"

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Next two up!"

The leader had a scared and angry look on his face. He had a brief huddle with the remaining three of his team, and sent out two, who appeared to be the best fighters in his group. They got ready, in a defensive stance, holding their fists up to their face.

Lyra sank down. She sat in a lotus position, then put her hands on her knees with index finger and thumb touching, closed her eyes, and started taking deep breaths.

Her two opponents stared at each other, confused.

One of them started coming forward. Lyra had no reaction. She continued meditating.

He aimed a kick at Lyra.

She bent backward to dodged it, did a complete backroll, hit the cage, launched off it and smashed her head into the belly of the guy, who was still recovering from the kick.

Then she waited half a second, as he bent over and struggled for breath, clasped her hands together, and unleashed a massive hammer-blow into his face.

The crack was probably audible to Zeus way up there. He slammed to the floor faster than if he'd been smashed with a sledgehammer, which he might as well have been.

"HALT! ONE DOWN!"

The guy was carried out by some volunteers, leaving Lyra and one other guy.

"So boring," she said, sadly.

Then she advanced on the opponent. He looked worried, but had a defensive stance up.

She was almost face-to-face with him.

She looked right at him, then suddenly grabbed one of his hands with both of hers and twisted it around into an armlock.

Holding it with one hand from behind, she used his other hand to smash between his legs, and finished it off with an elbow to the back of his head.

Without waiting for Ares to say "HALT!" she said, "This is too boring, I'll fall asleep. Patrick, finish them off please."

Harry threw her the mic.

"For the final battle," she said, obviously enjoying herself, "standing again at five feet nine inches, toppling the scales at a hundred and sixty pounds- which, despite what he claims, is not all muscle in the least- we have Patrick Brooks!"

He raised a hand at the crowd, but stared at his opponent. They were almost literally the exact same size. It was fairly unreal, but not that uncommon. He took off his watch and tossed it to Ares, since it wasn't allowed.

"FIGHT FOR MELEAGER!"

"You paid much attention in physics class?" said Patrick.

"Didn't know they had that in the ghetto."

"Perhaps you were too busy testing out the principle of gravity with your dick and your mother's pussy?"

"We didn't have to do experiments like that in my school, sorry."

"So you did it because you liked it, eh? No problem, I'll give you a physics lesson. Did you know that a properly trained martial artist can punch faster than the speed of sound?"

"Bullshit."

"Want a demonstration?"

"Try me, bitch."

"Sure."

So Patrick punched him. And he tried to block it.

Leaving him completely open for a straight left to his solar plexus.

Which left him open for a right swinging elbow into his cranium.

Which left him on the ground and unconscious.

One, two, three, easy.

Patrick looked up at the leader, the guy who started all of it, and said, "Bring it, asshole."

As Patrick swung and extended his right elbow, trying to get back a bit of lost feeling in his fingers, he said, "So, did you pay any attention in physics?"

He shrugged and said, "Maybe a little. Enough to know how momentum works. Enough to know that I'm going to beat the shit out of you."

"Easier said than done, darling. Explain how a punch can go faster than sound, since you paid attention."

So he took a deep breath and was about to launch into an explanation, but Patrick said, "Whoa, dude. You got three words."

He was startled, then thought a little, and said, angrily, "Conservation of momentum."

"Congratulations! You're right! Now let's fight."

Patrick pointed two finger-guns at the leader, then positioned the hands into something that could pass off as a karate move.

"Ever played Metal Gear Solid?" he asked as they circled each other.

"No, which is why-" the leader stopped.

"Which is why you have a girlfriend and I don't? Nice try. You should play it. Everyone here should," he added, loudly, so that the audience could hear. Some guy started a brief "Solid Snake!" chant.

The leader grunted and threw a punch at Patrick. He blocked his fist in his left armpit, waited a split second for him to realise that, then punched him in the face before he could get his other hand up. Then he released the hand and waited.

He yelled and charged at Patrick. Patrick sidestepped and grabbed one of his arms behind him, and used his fist to make him punch himself.

"Why're you hitting yourself?" taunted Patrick.

"Because you need to use some deodorant and I can't wait to be out of here."

"Oh, well, if that's what you want."

Patrick launched forward into a grapple. There was a brief struggle, which was equal, since the leader was an Ares kid and he did have quite some strength, but Patrick had enough knowledge of leverage to at least nullify that strength.

Then Patrick put his head down and did the same stationary-tackle thing he'd done in training and pushed him away, then did a one-two punch combo to the ribs, grabbed his arm, trapped it under his right armpit, ducked under it to face the back of the leader, then quickly slid his hands out and grabbed him in a kind of chokehold with one of his arms trapped. He wasn't done yet, though. He used his weight to bring the leader to the ground, then repeatedly elbowed him until Ares called it.

He went out of the cage, took his ArtiSun from Ares, put it on, and waited for the crowd to die down a bit.

Ares said, disapprovingly "To make it official: the team of Morgan, Curtis and Brooks won. Sons, I'm going to need to see you."

Patrick grabbed a mic and said, "Guys. Guys."

The crowd quieted down.

"Hey, look. That was fun and all, and I meant it to be, but this is serious. I'm talking to the kids in general here. You know who you are, you guys who think a fight involves suplexes, stunners, and whatever the hell they have in WWE nowadays. Look, there are two reasons we won this fight. A, we know how to fight. Me and Lyra had to, or we wouldn't be here right now, and Harry knew his way around one from similar stuff when he was a kid. We know exactly what to do, when to do it, and they didn't, and you don't. B, it was completely one on one. Even Lyra's second bit was basically completely single. If two had attacked at once...eh, I couldn't, but I'm sure Lyra could handle that." There was a cheer from the crowd. "Three...depends, but Lyra could also handle that." There was another cheer from the crowd. "Four...sorry, Lyra, but nope. So my point is, don't go running into groups of seven and expect anything except you lying bleeding on the ground. That's what's going to happen."

He paused.

"So why did we do this? We knew we would win, right? Single combat unarmed matches, one group who knows how shit goes down, one group doesn't, it's obvious. So why'd we do this? Two reasons. One. They were grade-A _assholes_, and I hate assholes." There was a huge cheer from the kids, especially. "Two. Sounds like something out of a cheesy B-movie, but let's face it. There's always someone better than you. I was better than those guys. Lyra's better than me. And...well, I'm sure someone's better than Lyra. Probably. Who knows? My point is, don't try to showcase how great you are by picking on people who never signed on from it. Clarisse raised a great point earlier today." His voice became even more serious.

"Look, this is a bad time. I might be responsible for some of it, I might not. We know what happened a few days ago, Percy almost got killed trying to defend me. We're going to need you- hell, I'm going to need you- to buckle up and get ready for a ride. If you think some asshole's bullying you, then tell your camp leader. This isn't elementary school and this is no such thing as a tattle-tale. Hitting someone with no reason is called assault, and injuring someone is called battery, and that exists in the law, so don't be an idiot, please. I'm requesting those of you who're here to please make sure that on the day when it counts- and believe me, that day's coming- I can stand in front of whoever and say 'Camp Half-Blood fights as one." The crowd was silent.

Patrick checked his watch, and said, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm devastatingly late for Percy," and ran out of the cabin.


	7. Chapter 6: People

**Chapter 6**

"**People"**

"_Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok,_

_Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!_

_Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot!_

_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin,_

_Naal ok zin los vahriin,_

_Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!_

_Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,_

_Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!_

_(But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies,_

_Will be silenced forever and then!_

_Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw!_

_Dragonborn, Dragonborn,_

_By his honor is sworn,_

_To keep evil forever at bay!_

_And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,_

_Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!)"_

_The Song of the Dragonborn - Skyrim_

"Thanks for coming out here, Athena," said Patrick.

She nodded. "I was thinking that you were not taking it seriously enough. It is good to know that you did have a plan with that useless fighting."

"Technically, Lyra started it, I just came up with a plan on my feet. Which is. You know. What I'm good at it."

She smiled slightly and said, "It was just a matter of time until your questions overcame your curiosity. Shoot, Patrick."

"The most important, and obvious question right now, which nobody bothered to address, is...how did those monsters find this camp? I...thought it had magical protections?"

"It did," said Athena. "The general consensus is that Echidna broke it. Most of the time, monsters as powerful as her don't attack the camp."

"But you said Echidna is back and more powerful than ever. So this camp could be attacked at any time?"

"Quite. Now are you understanding why I pressured Zeus to include the military? Without stronger weaponry, it would be very unwise to even attempt at fighting a siege."

Patrick paused, then asked, "And I've been meaning to ask. How do they function in here? The Mist, monsters, Gods, how does it all work?"

"The Mist's effect is greatly lessened inside this camp, but it still affects them. They know about it, even the privates, but information is quite strictly controlled. Do not be misled; General Kevin trusts you, for some reason, but nothing is allowed to go out, and do you really think anyone would believe someone even if they went public?"

Patrick said, "Fair point, but what about the campers? What about the camp-wide wi-fi? The laptops? The smartphones? That...that sounds fairly ridiculous, and...well, yeah."

Athena smiled, this time. "That was because they upgraded, and had a lot of stock. I knew about it, and I had a quiet conversation with Hermes, and then a quiet Council, and we decided it would be for the better of the campers. You can see their camp prowess was not hurt; I was highly pleased that barely any injuries occurred in the skirmish some time ago."

There was silence for a second. Then Patrick asked, "How strong am I, on my own?"

"Stronger than you could ever imagine."

"And the others?"

"Stronger than you could ever imagine. You are intelligent enough and have read the requisite books and played the requisite games to understand how potential and true power works."

"And how exactly do you unlock it?"

Athena turned around.

"If I knew, I would tell you. Nobody does. And no, Percy's strength and prowess in battle stems not from harnessing his potential, but simply that he is a very, very good swordsman."

Patrick thought for a while, and said, "Sorry, but...it still doesn't sound right. What Percy told me, what Harry told me...I don't see Zeus doing this kind of thing. Not calling in the military, calling in the mortals."

Athena said, "Do you know when was the last time that the Gods were facing an enemy that was unquestionably, and by this magnitude, stronger than them? It has never happened. Not Kronos, not Typhon, not the entire Titan war, nothing. This is unimaginable, Patrick. I will freely say that we Gods have our egos, but we also know when to get rid of them. Of course, there were always those high-up who knew about the existence of demigods. Quite a few people on the top role are heroes themselves, including quite a few Presidents...and no, my lips are sealed on the topic of Barack Obama. We communicated with them to ask for their help. They realised what was happening. We need firearms, Patrick, they revolutionized warfare for mortals and I believe they can for us. As an aside, Patrick, I should tell you that the Mist does not let mortals fight monsters except in self-defence."

Patrick nodded.

"Anything else?"

Patrick quietly said, "The obvious."

"Your parents?"

"Yes."

Athena looked down at the ground. "Please excuse me, Patrick, but there is a reason we have tried to keep your mind away. I'm sorry, but I can't answer that."

"I trust your judgement," said Patrick, simply.

"There's something else on your mind, I think?"

Patrick hesitated for a second, then said, "I'm pretty sure Annabeth's pissed at me."

Athena raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "Really? Do you have any idea why?"

"Well, I thought for a second she was angry because I put Percy in danger, but she's not that type of person. If not that, I...really don't have the least idea. She's been avoiding me, and quite obviously purposely trying to not talk to me lately."

Athena thought for a while, and said, "Annabeth has always been a pride to me. I know her quite well, and I cannot quite understand, unless..." She was silent.

"Huh?"

"Patrick, there is someone among the Gods- it could even be me, but rest assured it is not- however, in pursuit of protecting his or her anonymity, I will pretend it was, in fact, me for now. It is true that you swore particularly badly at Echidna while fighting her, is it not?"

Patrick was stunned for a moment, then smiled wryly and said, "Yes, I used the c-word. I suppose I can see how that might offend her." Then he became serious and said, "And I have absolutely no idea how to approach this."

"She is a straightforward person. Ask her. She will tell you. Reply accordingly. Use your species' main evolutionary traits, Patrick. Communication."

Patrick thought for a moment, and said, "If you don't mind saying, what's the general opinion of me up there?"

"Depends. There's a lot of chaos going on. But in general, Hera is not a fan because of Lyra, Ares thinks you could be much better if you trained more, Zeus fumes a lot but I'm fairly certain he trusts you- or you're his only hope. Sometimes, both can be similar. Artemis remains silent, but I hope you've earned her respect, Poseidon and Hades and Hermes seem to be neutral. Generally, though, all you've done is make Hera wrinkle her nose at you, and a couple of the Gods think you have a backbone, by blowing your top."

Patrick said, grinning, "And what about the most important person for a teenager? What thinks my girlfriend's father?"

"Hephaestus and Aphrodite will be Hephaestus and Aphrodite. You know how it works," she said.

Patrick nodded. "One last thing, and it's a bit of a personal question."

"Personal question, eh? I usually redirect those to Aphrodite," said Athena.

Patrick grinned, and said, "That mightn't be a bad idea. Whose field is genetics, anyway?"

"...Wondering if you can have kids, Patrick? Bit too early for that, I would've thought."

"Hey, I'm a genetic anomaly. Not even a mutation, an anomaly. I think it's fair to ask what, if anything, could happen if I have kids."

"That is probably Aphrodite's field. I'll set up a meeting. Try not to punch her in the face, she can have that kind of effect on people like you. Feel free to Iris-message me again if you need me." She winked at Patrick and disappeared.

Patrick looked up at the moon. It was probably close to 4 AM, he reckoned, by his limited ability to tell time by the stars. He started sneaking back to the camp, but heard a loud helicopter and much commotion near General Kevin's camp. He stiffened and hurried towards it, hiding himself as best he could.

The helicopter landed very quickly, even by his estimate, and two men carried a gurney into the medical camp. Patrick could see the vague shape of General Kevin standing near the gurney. It was way too dark to make anything out, but he figured that his nephew had been transported to there. He crouched behind a cabin wall, wishing honestly that they'd just go away and be done with it because it was 4 AM and he would very much like to return to his warm and comfortable sleeping bed.

Then there was a quite tight hand on his shoulder and a gruff voice beginning to say, "Isn't it ag-" Of course, he was interrupted by a fairly sleepy Patrick via a sudden armlock and a fist heading towards his groin, as was standard procedure when a rather paranoid teenager is suddenly "attacked." Then Patrick found himself on the ground and the guy standing over him, which is also standard procedure when a teenager who has never been formally trained tries to counter-attack anyone in the military.

"Christ, kid, where'd you learn- oh, wow, it's you! From that cage match, wasn't it?"

"Er, yes. Sorry, I'm kind of paranoid. Was out to enjoy the night before the sunrise, saw General Kevin's nephew, so I waited until I would be safe. Guess not."

"You know about Sammy? How?" he said, suddenly having a hard expression his face.

"What can I say? The General likes me," he said. "Or my girlfriend. Maybe both of us. I'm sorry about your friend, and yes I technically broke camp rules by sneaking out, but everything will be much better if you just let me get back to sleep."

"Kevin likes you, eh?" His face widened into a grin. "Good enough for me. What was your name again? Something Irish, or what?"

"Patrick. Patrick Brooks. Not Irish, as far as I know."

"Ah, yeah. The crazy chick's your girlfriend?"

Patrick gave the guy the I'm-too-civilised-to-give-that-a-proper-answer look.

"Hey, relax, man. Crazy can be a positive adjective too. Bet she'd give even me a run for my money."

"The real question is if you'd give her a run for her money," said Patrick, politely. "Now may I?"

"Hey, listen. You and I- we need to have a talk. Give me a chance, yeah? My name's Stan. Stan Neagley. If you want, bring Lyra, okay? That lake over there, where you were talking with Athena- oh yeah, I saw you- tomorrow, 4 PM."

"4:40. I have Ancient Greek from 3:45 to 4:30, and an errand right after that."

"Alright. Thanks, and just trust me on this one."

Patrick watched as he bounded away, the last of the adrenaline in both guy's bodies dissipating. There was something he couldn't place about the guy. He shrugged and sneaked into the Hermes cabin and huddled up and was asleep in five minutes.

"Cunt? Really? Wow. Honestly didn't expect that from Annabeth," said Lyra.

"Still only a theory. Plus, maybe she went to one of those kinds of schools. Had those kind of parents. I wouldn't know and I sure as hell ain't asking Percy."

Patrick and Lyra were conversing animatedly, walking out of their Ancient Greek class, laptops under their arms. Their heads were fairly buzzing around with Greek, but hey, it was what their brains were wired for. Perhaps his less than most, as he barely had noticed anything, but Lyra definitely had.

"Have you been talking to your uncle much?" asked Patrick, perhaps remembering from his conversation with Athena.

"Oh, yeah. Kept in touch with him. He still doesn't quite approve of you, y'know."

"Quite right, I should be way out of your league," said Patrick, grinning. "OK, there's Annabeth. Go to the lake and have a chat with that guy...what's his name? Stan, yeah. I'll see if I can defuse the situation," he said, his grin falling to a sigh.

He walked quickly, almost ran, and met up with her. "Annabeth, do you have a minute?"

"Yes," she said, looking straight at him, and almost through him, with those same stormy grey eyes he'd been looking into the previous night. He could quite easily see how Percy liked her.

"I'm sorry if I've got this wrong, but are you purposely avoiding me? Because if you are, and I've offended you somehow, or did something stupid, then I apologise, and I'd like to know what it was," said Patrick, in a half-apologetic, half-hurt voice. It was a voice he used a fair amount, but usually it was with teachers, to get out of trouble, or something similar. Quite frankly, he rarely used it with people he respected.

Annabeth looked surprised for a second, then composed herself and said said, "Yes. I was. There's a reason for it, and yes, it's something you did. Apologising isn't going to help, much. And I'm sorry, but I probably used that voice more than you ever did."

Patrick almost seemed to switch personality. Rather than being submissive, he became the dominant person in the conversation, or at least the equal. He didn't do so much as to stretch his neck, but suddenly his one-inch height advantage over Annabeth was emphasized. He just shook his head, simply, strongly.

"If you think I'm misogynistic, or sexist, you're barking up the wrong tree. Completely. I'm probably more of an equal-rights supporter than you are. I know where you come from, you just don't use some words, but do you really think there's that divide for me? Ever heard me say anything even close, before or after that? Ever heard Lyra, ever heard anyone in this camp who I consider my friends? I don't do that. I have quite some words that people don't use if they want to still know me, but they know that beforehand. If you want me to add another to my list for you, I'll gladly oblige, but I stick by my original behaviour and I won't apologise."

It was an almost ridiculously complex paragraph for being a few short, clipped sentences. Probably Patrick wouldn't speak with anyone except Lyra or Athena or children of Athena, because it was a whole lot of subtle clues hidden there that he expected people to find, and only people who knew him really well, of whom there's a grand total of one, or people whose intelligence level was through the roof, such as Athena and her children, could find it. He knew that, and he knew Annabeth would respond openly, but he was in a hurry, and he hoped Annabeth would get that without it being insulting.

Annabeth took a second to process the short speech, then said, calmly, "Patrick, we need to talk about this another time. It appears we both missed something or the other. I'm not angry about this or anything, but you seem to be in a hurry and this might need a minute. "

"You might talk to Percy. He saw almost everything."

"I will. My advice is to forget this for now."

"OK. Bye."

Patrick checked his watch, breathed a small sigh of relief, and started walking over to the lake, quite thankful that obviously Annabeth hadn't seen what was going on before that particular incident. He replayed the scene in his head as best he could and was quite shocked by how he must have appeared.

Then he put the thought out of his mind for the time being and found Lyra and Stan bickering.

"Whoa, hell no. There is no way an air choke is preferable to the blood choke," Stan was saying.

"Maybe not in the field, where you can't let him make any noise, but if you perform an air choke correctly, there's no way they'll be able to respond. Plus, they'll be out for longer."

"Yeah, right, and you leave yourself open for a few minutes on end. If you sweat, slip half an inch, you're done for."

"I don't slip."

"People do!"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Stan, but a hell of a lot of people can't even do a blood choke properly, and most people wouldn't know how to get out of any choke if a rat who knew how to applied it."

"Ah well, different enemies, I guess. Hello, then."

It suddenly hit Patrick what had felt off about Stan. He had a beard, not an absolutely massive one, but still a good one, and his hair was way longer than regulations allowed. Big contrast from the occasional soldier he saw around the cabin.

Stan caught Patrick looking at him, and said, "Yeah, I'll come to that in a minute. Kevin told me you'd catch on to that in two secs. She already did, so yeah."

"First-name basis with a General, you must be pulling some serious rank," said Patrick, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah, I'm getting to that. You know the drill, top secret, blah blah, nobody will believe you. You've heard of Delta Force, right?"

Patrick looked at Stan carefully. A bit over six feet, shade over two hundred pounds, maybe. Not even close to being wiry, not quite a huge guy.

"You're not Delta Force," said Patrick.

"Nope, a civ off the streets could get that. But you've heard of them all, I'm sure, not just the Army, all of them. Delta Force, Rangers, Green Berets, SEALs, Recon Marines, NATO Black Ops- oh, sorry, you're not supposed to know about that one, but hey. Overseas, SAS, the lot."

"You could've said that in three words. Special Operations Forces. Or two, Special Forces."

"Yeah, anyway. My point is, let me put it this way. Pick the best out of those, have them outnumber us, let them have their higher ground, give 'em air support, mortars, give 'em drones, give 'em M16s and give us flintlocks. My unit will kick their ass so hard they'll have bits of shit coming out of their mouth. Like always."

Patrick raised an eyebrow.

"He was part of it. Sammy. There were ten of us. We were nicknamed the A-team, and it stuck, because about five guys in the US and ten on the Earth who can order us to do anything, and we're the best. In North America, at least, and I'd love to have a war game with the Chinese and Indian teams, but we can't, because some poor bastard in Afghanistan was forced by some actual bastard to shove a mine in a road, and he was part of the crew in the Humvee to get hit."

Patrick was silent. So was Lyra.

He grinned and said, "But he's good now. The unit won't be back together. Maybe we'll find someone else. The doctors say he'll almost be good as new, but almost doesn't cut it for us. That's just how it goes. We're the elite, Patrick. The guys in the Delta force can walk a hundred miles and stay up a hundred days and shoot a bullseye at a thousand yards. We don't bother. We're dropped in by stealth helicopter, we set up there, after a great meal and a great night of sleep, and we slaughter. The record kill's held by me. Five kilometers. You have no idea, nobody does, and we love it that way. We're the goddamn hipsters of special forces. We go to places you've never heard of, we kill people you've never heard of with weapons you've never heard of. And you better believe that if we want to kill someone, there's nothing and nobody that's standing in our way. You know Offspring's You're Gonna Go Far, Kid? That was written for us. We're completely invincible."

Patrick and Lyra looked at him and said together, "Explain." Then they looked at each other and grinned for a second and snapped back to Stan.

"It's very simple. In the Cold War, a scientist made the brilliant discovery that, hey, humans work best when they're completely comfortable. But you know how war works. It's shit, and it sucks, and anyone who says otherwise needs to be put away from society for a long, long time. But we got lucky. We found a unit, way back then, who were worth the investment. They were tested. They owned. If the human body can shoot that well after no food and no sleep and lactic acid throughout the body...you can make the adjustment. But it's not worth it for anyone else. Absolutely nobody. That's why we're the best. You can find a ton of people and train them well enough and you get yourself a Delta Force team. But there's a point where that stops working. Us. This is completely serious, Patrick. You think I'm joking, you had a fleeting thought this was a deluded fantasy of some guy, but you can see for yourself that it's not."

Patrick just said, "God damn."

"Yes. So now you know. And you know why I'm telling you this. You realise something, right? You're also the elite of demigods. We weren't told much, but I know how to get information. And if you're going to save everyone else's asses, you're going to need some help."

Lyra said, "We're doing firearms research. Perhaps you could help?"

"Nah, I checked it out. They've got better people than we ever will."

Patrick stretched out and checked his watch and said, "We've got plenty of time. Now would be a good time to tell us...whatever you're going to tell us."

"How about a little sweetener for the deal?"

"Hmm?" said Lyra.

"Perhaps a few in-depth and rather unhealthy descriptions of the weapons used by every member of the unit?"

Patrick slowly turned his head to look at Lyra.

"That...is the textbook definition of an unfair advantage," she said.

"Well, I do want something rather large in exchange," he said.

"We...don't exactly hold much weight or pull any strings in the camp," said Patrick.

"Well, you've got a certain friend who can pull some back in LA, don't you..."

As Lyra opened her mouth to tell Stan to go fuck himself, Patrick held up a hand.

"Mr. Stan, you were half a second from being ripped apart, and none of your training would have stopped you. Now, given that you claim to be part of a super-elite task force and you've seen us in action, you had better explain."

"I...well...that came out wrong?"

"I hope it did," said Lyra.

"Look, I don't want to take her down," said Stan. "As far as drug queens go, she's not that bad. I'm sorry if I implied any of that."

"Spit it out," said Patrick.

"It's a mutually beneficial agreement...that, or she's working for Al-Qaeda, and indirectly the Taliban."

"She's not," said Lyra.

Patrick shot a curious look at Lyra, then remembered something and nodded.

"I agree, she's not. But why the hell would you think that?"

Stan said, "There's a new group. Not only in LA, or California, but spreading through the US. It's reasonably small-scale, but it's still damn big. We have good reason to believe it's foreign. And as far as we can see, your friend has done nothing to quash them. Nothing. At all. Which is very suspicious behaviour in her field of work."

"Since when are you in Narcotics?"

"I have a friend in Narcotics. His brother died from an overdose. Heroin."

"How'd you know it's not her?"

"Forensic analysis stated that the it was way more potent than she sells."

"Maybe she upgraded."

"You know her. Would she?"

"Probably not."

Stan paused, as Patrick's phone in his pocket vibrated.

"You keep that in your pocket? Not the wrist-straps?"

"That's only for quests."

"But- oh, that one. You should be fine with that. The upgrade to this, which we used, had a nasty habit of the screen getting scratched on denim."

Patrick entered his password and scanned his retina.

"Wow, really? Someone did that here, they'd be kicked out of the Army in case someone else couldn't use it."

"That's why it's issued to everyone," said Patrick, absent-mindedly. "WHAT THE FUCK."

In response to Stan and Lyra's unasked question, Patrick held up the screen.

"Some coincidence that she'd ask for a classified session right after you were talking about her."

"I...it has to be a coincidence. Can't be anything else."

"Do it," said Lyra.

"OK," he said.

PADDY RIVER: What do you need?

Cougar88: Does Lyra's uncle have any contacts left?

PADDY RIVER: Probably. Why?

Cougar88: Strong suspicion rival drug dealer has access to military forces. Possible PMC but likely actual army. Would help both of us.

PADDY RIVER: Safeword request code "Lab."

Cougar88: Safeword answer "Silicon carbide."

Patrick looked over at Lyra, who nodded to confirm. His face fell and he wordlessly looked at Stan, and started typing again.

PADDY RIVER: This is a pretty kettle of fish. Wait five. Over.

Then he looked over and Stan said, "Either it's a coincidence or she's somehow tracking us."

"Unlikely," said Lyra.

Patrick thought for a little while, then continued typing. Stan tried to sneak a peek, but Lyra stalled him.

"What?"

"...He's the grandson of Athena and Apollo. Leave it up to him. I'll contact the General."

"Isn't his phone number supposed to be private?" said Stan, but Lyra already was dialing.

"He likes us," said Lyra.

PADDY RIVER: Long story short, a certain guy was suspecting YOU were working with foreign troops. Don't ask how we know the guy. Am trying to sort this. Can rely on me for war planning.

Cougar88: ...

Cougar88: Are you working with the army?

PADDY RIVER: It's a long story. Consider the rest of your favour to trust me.

Cougar88: So now we're just contacts.

PADDY RIVER: Yes.

Cougar88: Well, obviously, I wasn't attacking someone with potential military forces. Plus, competition's supposed to be good for you.

Patrick said, "Okay, Stan, you get the message. Lyra, General?"

"We can meet him now at the HQ."

"Gimme your phone."

Lyra gave him his phone. He synced it with his own and started typing much faster, even though they were walking to the General's cabin, given that he now had a much bigger keyboard.

PADDY RIVER: Meeting will have to be set up.

Cougar88: Who will they send?

PADDY RIVER: Intel on them?

Cougar88: Not very big a force. Just the weapons are military-grade. German assault rifles, silenced SMGs, a lot of AK-47 variants. Heard reports of explosive weapons and Stinger missiles; though not confirmed, led to me asking for help.

PADDY RIVER: Could they be Al-Qaeda?

Cougar88: Impossible to know, but likely opponent of current America, unless they're white supremacist PMCs. You know, I might be a genius drug lord, but this is slightly over my head.

Patrick showed the screen to Stan. He stared at the screen, and said, "Rifles, SMGs, blah blah...but Stingers? If they manage to hack their IFFs...We need to see him."

"Who do you think they'll put on it?"

"Probably one of the fifteen MPs trained by Kevin himself."

"General Bennett was an MP?" said Lyra.

"The MP," said Stan. "He was, quite simply, the best investigator I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Probably single-handedly responsible for us surviving the Cold War."

"I'm interested in their rank," said Patrick.

"Stingers? I'd send a Colonel, but the brass might even decide on Brigadier General," said Stan. "Colonel's two steps above Major," he added.

Patrick continued typing.

PADDY RIVER: Prepare to send someone approximately Colonel.

Cougar88: You have no idea how I run this, do you?

PADDY RIVER: Thankfully, no.

Cougar88: Fine. Where?

PADDY RIVER: FYI, Stingers are pretty damn serious.

Cougar88: I guessed.

PADDY RIVER: Will notify you now.

The three stepped into the cabin, the General nodded them into a chair, and as fast as he could, he explained the situation. Stan sat across the table and whispered something to him. He nodded, and asked Patrick and Lyra, "What's a good private place to meet in LA where a guy dressing like a hipster won't be noticed too much?"

They booted up a GPS app, and quickly decided on one good spot, but advised the General to be careful about the area. He messaged the spot over to her, exited out of the IRC channel, then said, "Quite honestly, sir, can I be done with this?"

"Actually, Stan had a good idea, I think you'd like it."

"Yes?" said Lyra.

Stan said, "You do have simulations for tactical situations, right?"

"I think they're working on it," said Lyra.

"Ah, well. Guess it's not possible just yet. Worth a try, though."

"Also, as far as I can tell, only so much of our fights are urban," said Patrick.

"I guess, but you should look into it. If you don't stay calm in a bad situation, that's it for you," said Stan, darkly.

"Yeah, I think we're used to that kind of thing," said Patrick.

As they were walking out, General Kevin said, "One more thing, Patrick."

Patrick turned around.

"Stop calling me sir," he said, smiling slightly.

"Honestly? I can't think of anything else to call you," said Patrick. "Sir," he added. Then he walked out.

"You're improving a lot," said Percy, as Dawnbreaker was sent scattering across the floor yet again. "You're a little iffy with Dawn, but you're really great, really fluid with the changes," he added.

"Honestly, how did YOU get so good?" grumbled Patrick.

"To tell you the truth? Practicing a heck of a lot, fighting monsters that're ridiculously, ridiculously strong, and especially, this, helps a lot," he said, pulling down his shirt collar to reveal a small amulet. "Poseidon gave me this after last year's quest, which, I'm afraid, is still classified," he said. "OK, your defensive stance has been very weak, so we'll need to work on that." He paused, and said, "Annabeth wants to have a word, after lunch. Before I forget. Now, decide on cross formation or parry..."

Patrick got ready to defend, in the Virtual Reality.

"Laser sight or not?" Chris asked me.

"Depends- how're the batteries?" I'd replied, carefully trying to understand it.

"Standard, and easily rechargeable, using a bit of Godly- or Demi-Godly energy," said Chris.

"How come you guys never taught me that?" I said, pointing it at the target.

"Half-inch too high at twenty meters, very approximately," Chris told me. He continued, "We did, idiot. Just muck around with the same technique you used to build your boyfriend's swords, literally first day stuff. Still, though, I've gotta say that's a great sword idea, building it yourself on, what, your second day?"

"I had help from Leo," I said, which was true, I did.

Yeah, time for the explaining now, isn't it? We eventually did figure out a prototype, of course, which I used to save Patrick(again), and of course, the arm cast. Honestly, I'd completely lost track of how many prototypes we were onto, but it was finally time for me to be given my own- only, of course, if I passed the rigorous testing by some Marine guy who'd been a demigod. Anyway, with any luck I would pass that. The problem was that some guy- well, not problem, but anyway. Some guy had come up with the idea to make even more adjustments. Scope, silencer, optional sight was there already, of course, but he wanted to implant a small computer chip in to do things...look, I don't know, okay? All I know of programming and engineering is what I learned from _Baby Steps Into Python_ before I got bored.

Anyway, yeah. This was my penultimate upgrade, you could say. It was a fine weapon, though. I looked at Leo. He nodded, and I took it apart in ten seconds, and put it back together in fifteen.

"25 seconds? Seriously? Kids these days," sighed some guy from behind us. He motioned for the gun, and carefully kept it on a table, and smashed it apart and slapped it together in just over fifteen. I took it, and checked it.

"The trigger's misaligned, you idiot," I said. "Damn thing could've gone off any second. You're lucky I didn't let you chamber a round."

"Wha? I...oh. Oops," he said, as I showed him.

"How the hell did you get into the army?" I said, shaking my head. I think. Don't expect me to remember every movement I did.

"You're only going to need to reload or fix bad jams on the field," said Chris. "So don't bother with this stuff."

"Still, though, don't neglect cleaning. And do it properly. Unlike me," said the guy, sheepishly.

"By the way, you're still practicing with your knife, right?"

"It has a name, Chris," said Lyra, with mock indignation. "But yeah. Dad balanced it well and that girl in Ares camp...I forget her name...told me I was being slightly better than most of the other idiots using daggers and knives, so there's that, I guess."

Something in the way Lyra said "Dad" made Chris hesitate.

"Hey, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but can I ask you about your mom? Is she dead?"

"No," said Lyra, carefully practicing attaching a silencer to her gun. "Ever since I can remember, I've been mostly raised by my uncle and aunt. My aunt died when I was 4, which I barely remember. My mother went down some bad roads, became a drug addict, still is, probably, and is in jail. I might talk to her some day, but...not really interested yet."

"Really? You're not interested in meeting your own mother, who Hephaestus chose to...um..., well..."

"I somewhat doubt his ability to choose women, considering, you know..."

"...You probably shouldn't mention her in front of him."

"Point noted," said Lyra, chambering a round, then firing off five shots into the bullseye.

"I'd like to apologise about jumping to conclusions," said Annabeth.

"I'm sorry about beating around the bush," said Patrick.

"Honestly, though, it was really silly for me. I pride myself on being rational, not getting worked up about simple words," said Annabeth.

"How did it look like?" asked Patrick.

Annabeth shrugged. "It was a whole lot of flickering. She's a very powerful monster, was holding up the dimension. There was a big pause when she noticed Percy, and just enough to see what was going on when, y'know...it did seem ridiculously out of character, but you know what they say. You see a true man when he's in danger? Some bullshit like that. No offense to you, but I've had a lot on my plate, and, yeah."

"That's how it works, doesn't it? Agree to save the world and suddenly everyone wants you to fetch their pet dog," said Patrick, slightly bitterly.

"Is that why you're doing this?" asked Annabeth.

"Let's put it this way: The world and I are in an abusive relationship. It beats me up and screws me a lot, but I still like it," he said.

"That's one way to put it," said Annabeth.

Then she said, "Athena had a message," and passed on a note, and left.

Patrick unfolded it, read it, sighed, and trudged off for his Archery class, despite the fact that he sucked at it.

"Hello, Aphrodite," said Patrick, slightly wearily.

"You know, staying up this late is quite bad for your complexion," said Aphrodite.

"I've got people and Gods to meet, and promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep," said Patrick. "So what's the story, Doc?"

Aphrodite shrugged. "Nobody quite knows, I'm afraid, dear. Out of the three heroes like you, one was celibate. One settled down, married, but never had a kid, and one did have a child, but there were a lot of rumours at the time that he was adopted. He might not be, though, so...don't be silly about it," she said, winking at Patrick.

Patrick noticed that she seemed to have absolutely no problem sitting on the rather muddy edge of the lake.

"You quite like this spot, don't you? Quite romantic, in both the old and new senses of the word," she observed.

"Almost nobody comes here," said Patrick. "Not at night, not in the day, unless Percy's practicing some of his stronger abilities. And at night, people who want to be places...hide in your cabin, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Tch, tch. Don't accuse me of breaking the age-old Camp Half-Blood rules without proper evidence, Mr. Brooks," said Aphrodite, in a tone of voice that was almost giggling but not quite.

"Perhaps if you let me bring in some forensic teams...or just a black light would work most of the time," said Patrick, with a straight face.

"Dear me, and I thought my husband was rather coarse," she said, fanning herself exaggeratedly.

"Since I'm dating one of his daughters, that can hardly be so unexpected," said Patrick. After a second, he started to ask, "You know, this wasn't quite what I expected..."

"Oh, please, Patrick, you're surprised about not being treated the same way as Perseus? I am the Goddess of Love, after all...perhaps you might think a little about what that means for my..._slightly_ different behaviour."

"Really, Aphrodite? I'm pretty sure it's impossible to have a girlfriend- or Significant Other, as they call it now- without knowing that relationships work differently for everyone," said Patrick, slightly tiredly. "Most people would think me and Lyra are in a platonic relationship," he added.

"Are you?" said Aphrodite, smiling. "Anyway, to bring us back on topic, you should probably stay on the safe side," she added.

"Oh, it's not about Lyra, I just wanted to think about the biological implications of even more of a mixture of Gods."

"Well, I think I can safely say that's unlikely to happen. Not about Lyra, however? Do tell me I won't have to go into the basics, shall I...?"

"What? Oh...What? No," said Patrick, snapping out of his grogginess. "I...no, Lyra's been on birth control for a few years for reasons I'd really rather not...get into...if you understand," he said, gesturing with his finger.

"Ouch," she said, "One of the worse side-effects of the ability to reproduce, I suppose. Anyway, Patrick, you should probably stop staying up late for reasons like this."

"Curiosity might've killed the cat...but I don't like cats," said Patrick. "Goodbye."

She nodded and disappeared in a quite-endearing-shade-of-pink flash that lingered even after Patrick had opened his eyes again.

He had a smile on his face, which he supposed was standard in the situation. He looked up at the moon, yawned, trudged back to the cabin, snuck in, and went to sleep.

"You're joking," said Patrick, incredulously.

"No, really," said Stan, laughing.

"A Beretta M9? For some kind of super-elite soldier? Come on, what kind of sidearm is that!" said Lyra.

"Well, nobody actually used it," said Stan. "But hey, let's get on with the good stuff. I'll start with me. I was the squad sharpshooter."

"You and, uh, Sammy, both?" asked Patrick.

"Yep, man. His thing was general cover from, oh, two kilometres?. I made the big shots, single hits. I'm pretty sure I've set the actual record, like I said- just below five kilometres- but honestly, that was a flash in the pan. My rifle is rated for absolute maximum field effective range of four and a quarter kilometres."

"Don't leave us hanging," said Patrick, grinning.

"Actually, it's surprisingly low-key. Ever heard of a rifle called the Barrett XM109?"

"No, but that's why we brought the laptop," said Lyra. She looked it up.

"Wow. Maximum of 3600 metres? And this is civilian?"

"Maximum, not maximum effective," pointed out Patrick.

"Well, mine is a heavily modified version of that," said Stan. "And we get specialized ammo. The thing's really damn heavy. But I make it work."

"That's all, for you?" said Patrick.

"Hell no. My sidearm was always a SMG," he said.

"Which one?"

"First time around, I used a H&K MP5..."

"So terribly civilian," said Lyra. "Again!"

"Hey, first time around. Some of the time you love 'em, some of the time you hate 'em. I just didn't like it. I really don't have the least idea why. I think it was the 9mm ammunition. I always love stopping power. That's why I switched, and this is something you'll be unfamiliar with. The KRISS Vector, .45 ACP."

"Hey, that's from Far Cry 3," said Patrick.

"Ripper?" said Lyra.

"Yep," said Patrick.

"Oh, you guys played that? Not bad. So that's what I used. The standard SMG attachments; laser sight, optical scope- not that I used that too much- optional silencer, blah blah. Moving on to everyone else, we had two guys in charge of a fully automatic machine gun, name of..."

Patrick and Lyra were trying to solve an equation, for some 12 year old kid of Apollo, name of Robin, just for fun. And also because he promised to give them ice creams per equation they helped him with, since he had a friend in the stores, but also a little bit of fun, because when you're saving the world the odd simple solve-for-x equation is pretty interesting.

"You getting the right side of the equation to be y_2_ + 2ab?" asked Lyra.

"Oh, is that what you're getting? Uh, sure, let's pretend I'm getting that," said Patrick.

"You idiot...factor out the 2, put in the previously known value of x, and it falls into equation two like I've written here," said Lyra, with a sigh.

Patrick stared at the paper with an amused look on his face, then said, "Pfft, your side was easier anyway."

Lyra smiled and said, "Well, that's this one proved, both sides equal the same. After a good fifteen minutes. What the hell school does that guy go to, anyway?"

"No idea. Never seen an equation like this, ever. It's like, fairly simple maths, seventh grade level at max, but it's so fucking long," said Patrick.

"That's because it's supposed to be a punishment, arranged by my mom and the school so I wouldn't get expelled," said a small, but happy voice from behind them, grinning, holding two small tubs of butterscotch ice cream.

"What'd you do to piss off your school?" asked Patrick, typing on his phone to find the answer to the next question, even though he had to show his work, just because it was way easier to derive from an answer.

"I, um, might have..._mistaken_...water for diluted hydrochloric acid and poured it on a lot of metallic sodium..." he said, sheepishly.

At this, Patrick sat up, while Lyra almost spat out her butterscotch ice cream.

"You...wait...you poured water on sodium?" said Patrick.

Nearly choking, Lyra swallowed the very cold ice cream, then groaned and held her head, and said, "How the hell are you alive right now? What made you think that would be a good idea?!"

"Er...I was really bored?"

Patrick said, "Erm...I'm pretty sure you just gave a double case of brain freeze and speechlessness at utter stupidity to the person who's going to solve your maths problem."

Lyra grinned, and said, still pounding lightly on her forehead, "Out of curiosity, why did you ask us for it?"

"Well, my camp leader - Jessica - told me kindly that she didn't have time for it- and everyone else in the camp kind of told me to go away."

"Wow, they sound like dicks," said Patrick, giving the workbook to Lyra and opening his own ice cream tub

"In their defence, our cabin's been working on something really big! I'm not part of it, but...yeah..." he said, sadly.

"Hey," said Patrick, "Don't be like that. You know that everyone's a part of this. You're prophesied to save the world as much as I am."

"I guess," said Robin. Then he pointed over Patrick's shoulder and said, "Someone's coming."

Patrick turned around; Lyra looked up. Two people were quite obviously coming steadily their way. They were both wearing black, and had black hair, which, combined with Patrick and Lyra's clothes and hair colour, made the whole thing feel slightly like an emo fair. As they came closer, it became quite obvious that they were having some kind of argument, and also that they were searching for Patrick and Lyra. Neither of them recognised the people, however. Lyra turned to Robin, with a bemused look on her face, but Robin's face looked as if a geek had just heard Firefly was going on a Season 2.

"Holy shit!" said Robin. "That's Nico di Angelo!"

"The son of Hades?" said Patrick. "And what's that special about him?"

"He's been missing for ages! We all thought he was dead! Though...I guess...maybe nobody told us young guys," he said, sadly. "Anyway, they obviously want to talk to you, so I guess I'll go..."

"Nah, you can hang on for a bit. It mightn't be urgent. Who's the goth girl, d'you know?"

"Umm...well...I can't say for sure...but that looks like Thalia Grace...the leader of the Hunters of Artemis?"

"Ah, her. Let's see what they want."

"...Thalia, no offense, but you can't even go anywhere close; I'm the son of Hades, and he's the one who controls this!"

"Really, Nico? You want to bring up phobias? You came into this camp playing trading cards- that argument makes just as much sense. And if you forgot; Zeus is the God of the Sky, so this is my thing too, thank you very much."

Patrick sensed that the argument, although heated, wasn't quite hostile. He walked up to them and asked "Are you looking for us?"

They stopped and glanced at each other. Then Nico thrust out his hand and said, "I'm Nicholas Di Angelo, everyone calls me Nico. You must be Patrick Brooks."

Patrick shook his hand, noticing the powerful, black sword hanging on a chain belt. He said, "Hm. According to this guy here you were missing, presumed dead."

Nico looked at Robin, who blushed and muttered something like "It was only a rumour."

"That's odd. I thought most of the camp knew about our quest," said Nico, scratching his head.

"It looks a lot like the younger members of this camp don't get some info," said Lyra.

"Or the newer members," said Patrick.

"I've never been at this camp long enough to know," said Thalia.

"Ah, hello. Sorry, almost forgot you. Thalia Grace, Lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis, was it? I'm Lyra Curtis" said Lyra, shaking her hand.

"Was, yes. Is, no. I quit," she said. "Percy did tell you the whole story so far, right? I only joined to avoid the prophecy. And by the way, it's just Thalia, please."

Patrick nodded and said, "If you have anything important to say, you should say it now."

"We were coming into the camp this way, anyway. Dionysus sent over an Iris-message to tell you that there's a really huge meeting. Like, even he was...what's the word? Rattled. This is something big."

Patrick looked behind them, then in the direction that Nico and Thalia were coming from.

"You were coming from Canada?"

"...You didn't know about it?" said Thalia.

"No," said Lyra. "Definitely not."

Thalia shook her head strongly and said, "I can't believe these idiots."

Patrick looked at Robin and said, "Hey, we'll be back soon. Only ten of these left, anyway."

Robin nodded and practically scurried away.

Patrick, Lyra, Nico and Thalia walked towards the main cabin.


End file.
